


At My Most Beautiful

by fayrose



Series: At My Most Beautiful Universe [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-27
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-31 20:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 127,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fayrose/pseuds/fayrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where things were ever so slightly different, Camelot had a young and beautiful Queen who was married to a cold and aging King. Indoctrinated into feeling worthless and powerless, it takes an unlikely knight to show her how beautiful and powerful she really is. AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been unfolding on my livejournal for the past 9 months and is still a work in progress. The first 18 chapters are being posted here together and any new updates will be added once they are written and betad.
> 
> As with all writers, I appreciate feedback as I have put a considerable amount of time into this story and have big things planned for the future.

  
In a world where things were ever so slightly different, Camelot had a young and beautiful Queen. She was adored as the shining beacon in the citizen’s darkest days. War had come to the land. Invaders from the east advanced through the outlands, camping out in the mountains and sending raiders into the villages. With no rain for ten months, the crops had failed and the winter had been harsh. A disease had bloomed in the frost bitten streets of the lower town, raging like flame that burned bright through the weakened people until only half of Camelot’s number remained. Times were hard. The kingdom was all but broken. But through it all, the Queen stood radiant in plain sight, lighting up their lives and letting her own fall into shadow.   
  
Day after repetitive day, she sat on her throne and smiled at the poor people whose requests her husband denied. Most of the time, she dreamed of how her life should have been. She dreamed of a life in which her mother and father were still alive, one in which she never met Uther Pendragon or married him the day she turned of age. More than anything else, she dreamed of a life far, far away.   
  
“Your highness,” she said softly before the next petition could be made. Her throne was set a foot and a half behind Uther’s and he did not look back at her. It symbolised his supreme regency over every citizen, including his wife. She didn’t resent it. It gave her a small amount of privacy.   
  
“Yes, what is it?” the King said distractedly, motioning for the guards appointed to bring in the petitioners to wait.   
  
“I wish to go out hunting.” Her voice was impossibly light, trying desperately to convey jollity and hopefulness that she didn’t have. “The season for boar will soon be over and I have yet to take out the mare that King Terrance gifted me. He will be back soon to sign the treaty and will want to know how I find her.”   
  
It was her responsibility to sit beside her husband as he held court and he expected her to uphold each and every responsibility. Never before had she been granted leave for anything, let alone leisure.   
  
Uther sighed. “Alright. I’ll send for a knight to accompany you.”   
  
Morgana leaned forward quickly in surprise, breaking protocol so that she could look at her husband’s face. She could never tell if he was being cruel unless she could see his eyes. “You consent?”   
  
“Mmm,” he waved a gloved hand in disinterest, focusing on the next man in line to see him – who looked far richer than his peers. “A knight will meet you in the courtyard.” He was directing it to one of the guards. “I want to take the horse out myself to give her a proper ride, but you will do until I have the time to exercise her properly.”   
  
Ignoring the slight, Morgana smiled brightly and propelled herself from the throne with her arms. “Thank you, my lord!”   
  
An hour later, Morgana’s heels clicked down the stone steps to the courtyard. She hadn’t ridden out for months. The King disapproved of her wearing breaches and had all but banned her, which is why she was so astounded that he had said yes. For the occasion, she had donned her best tan breaches and white shirt – the one that was open in a ‘V’ to below her breasts, held together only by a single tie. It was pushing the boundaries of modesty even for a queen but she did not care. Her hair was pulled back into a plait and she could already feel the wind against her neck. There was nothing quite like that feeling when going full kilter on an unknown horse. The anticipation made her fingertips tingle.   
  
It wasn’t often that she got to dress like that. As Queen, she was expected to show off all the finery that Camelot afford and that certainly didn’t entail dressing like a stable boy – even if she did think it made her look pretty damn good.    
  
A servant waited at the bottom of the steps with her steed’s reins in hand, struggling to stand still whilst the grey mare tossed her head.   
“She giving you trouble?” Morgana asked with an impish smile. She admired the animal already.   
  
“No trouble at all, my lady,” the servant said quickly, though he too was smiling slightly. He was one of Morgana’s favourites, a man from the Northern Isles with a thick accent and a rich sense of humour to match.   
  
“You are far too lenient on them,” Morgana said teasingly, brushing off the young boy who came running at her with a box to stand on. She opened the buckle and lowered the stirrup in front of her down three holes.   
  
“The King would have her whipped raw if she was his horse,” the servant, John, said.   
  
“Then it’s a good job she’s mine, isn’t it.” With one foot in the lowered stirrup, she vaulted onto the horse’s back. Taking the reins, she pulled in the horse’s head.   
  
“And what is she called, this horse of yours?”   
  
Morgana turned sharply to the origin of the sound, the very place she had been stood in only seconds before. The Knight – at least Morgana assumed so from the armour and the sword – lifted Morgana’s foot gently from the stirrup and raised the buckle up the three holes to riding height before replacing her foot. This in itself would be enough to prompt protests from the Queen but there was something holding Morgana’s attention. She had heard that there was a female knight, the only child of one of the King’s most loyal champions, but she had never seen her before.   
  
“She doesn’t have one,” Morgana managed after a second. This Knight was not what she had expected at all – long gold hair in loose curls, deep brown eyes and smile that caught Morgana completely and utterly off guard. “She’s new.”   
  
“Every horse deserves a name,” the Knight said, taking her eyes from Morgana completely as she stroked the neck of the suddenly calm horse. “Even new ones.”   
  
“What of you, do you have a name?” Morgana asked, annoyed that this oddity of a Knight was paying more attention to a horse than to the Queen of Camelot.   
  
“Morgause,” Morgause said, looking up at Morgana.   
  
“You do not address me formally,” Morgana challenged, “why not?”   
  
“I meant no offence, my Queen. I only thought that since you seek a few hours escape from the castle, you would also appreciate the break from formality,” Morgause said smoothly.   
  
Morgana narrowed her eyes. “Seeing as we are within the shadow of my husband’s walls, you will address me as you ought to address your Queen.”   
  
Morgause’s eyes lit up, as if she were pleased to be challenged, “As you wish, Your Royal Highness, my Queen.”   
  
“And do I not have a name also?” Morgana shortened the reins as her horse tossed her head again, growing impatient.   
  
“Morgana.” The name rolled from Morgause’s tongue like something foreign, all the more powerful for the omission of her married name. No one called her Morgana, not even Uther. Even her handmaid had refrained from the familiarity since she had become Queen Consort. She didn’t think she would mind so much if she were Queen Regent or even Uther’s first queen, but as it was, the title didn’t quite seem to fit. It was like she had gotten it measured before the winter feasting celebrations and now that is was time to wear it, it was just that little bit too small. No one else seemed to notice, though, and that made her feel a little bit insane.   
  
“Are you not riding?” Morgana asked shortly. It was probably better for her own state of mind if she didn’t dwell too much on the fact that she had just been addressed by her name for the first time in three months – she knew, she had been counting.   
  
At that precise moment, as if trying to annoy Morgana further, hooves clattered against the courtyard stone. The horse – presumably Morgause’s – was beautiful. In fact, it was maddeningly beautiful. Its coat was a fair chestnut colour that was not marred by a single dapple or sock, only a perfectly white star broke the block colour. Her mane – again, Morgana was assuming it was a she but you could never tell unless you took an indelicate glance down – was long and wavy, as silky as Morgana’s much worked on hair. Large blue eyes with long dark lashes fixed calmly on their blonde mistress as the distance between them gradually fell away.   
  
Morgana’s horse was beautiful but she wasn’t beautiful, not like this one. Morgana contemplated banning Morgause’s horse from the kingdom, though it did seem a little petty, so she supposed she probably shouldn’t.   
  
“This,” Morgause began as if she was announcing some foreign royal’s arrival, “is Dream. The best horse in the kingdom.”   
  
Maybe petty wasn’t such a bad thing anyway. She didn’t have the power to exile a person, but a horse...   
  
“Then my horse shall be called Nightmare,” Morgana said decisively, as if she had just won some sort of argument that Morgause wasn’t aware they had been having.   
  
“Tempting fate a little, don’t you think, Morgana?” Morgause said, again looking upon a horse instead of her Queen. She took the reins of Dream from the stable boy and ran her fingers lightly down the velvety skin of the horse’s nose. “My younger cousin named her. I didn’t have the heart to change it, even if it does sound a little laughable on the battlefield.”   
  
A small insistent something tugged at Morgana’s heart and then quickly went away. She had decided that she most definitely didn’t like this Knight, not one little bit. And no amount of cutesy stories was going to change that. Even if she was the only female knight that Morgana had ever heard of. Even if she did keep saying ‘Morgana’ in that gorgeous tone.   
  
“She has an affliction, my cousin, which causes her to fall asleep in a second with barely any warning. The day I bought Dream at the traders’ auction, she had collapsed whilst playing with the other children and ruined her new dress in the mud. I thought she would never stop crying, but then she saw Dream and just stopped,” Morgause continued.    
  
Nope. Not even a child with a ridiculously tragic illness was going to change Morgana’s mind.   
  
“She called her a dream and the name stuck,” Morgause finished, mounting the horse with what looked like no effort whatsoever. Then, as if she hadn’t just told Morgana a deeply personal story, she smiled close-lipped at the opening gate that led to the lower town and eventually to open countryside. “The weather looks fine. How about the Queen’s Valley? That seems appropriate.”   
  
“Umm,” Morgana said in what was probably her least intelligent response ever. She hadn’t really been listening. It is very hard to pay attention when you are imaging a knight being sweet and caring to a small child whilst a fluffy animal loitered nearby. It was especially hard when this knight looked quite as good on said fluffy animal as Morgause did.   
  
“The Queen’s Valley,” Morgause repeated. “There are plenty of boars there. It was boar that you wanted to hunt, was it not?”   
  
“Yes,” Morgana lied. Hunting was not a pastime she enjoyed, her husband should have known that about her but he didn’t. It wasn’t that she was against it exactly but she certainly couldn’t get pleasure from it.   
  
“Well then,” Morgause said, gathering up her reins and squeezing her heels, “let’s go.”   
  
And with that she shot off towards the gate, leaving Morgana open mouthed and a little bit in love.

  



	2. Chapter 2

Crashing over the heather covered moor turned out to be deceptively like flying. With nothing in your peripheral vision but sky and late morning mist obscuring your path, you could be tricked into thinking that you were riding on the clouds themselves. Ultimately, though, it was simply an illusion. If you thought too hard on it, you would notice the purple-brown peeking through the white, the tops of ancient trees and the pounding of hooves beneath, but Morgana had learnt that sometimes it was better not to think. Sometimes all that mattered was what you felt, and it felt just like heaven.   
  
On both sides, the ground fell away into the twin dells known as The Queen’s Valley. The story went that once upon a time, the earth that they rode on was a flat dale, one that stretched for miles, as low then as the dells were now. In its depths lay the village of the clan of Wilde, a quiet but powerful people who valued the land and their animals above gold and swords. It is said that at the time of Roman invasion, the young King took ill with a sickness in the blood and, with no heir to name as his successor, the responsibility for the running of the kingdom fell to his wife. Stuck with the enormity of the army marching towards them from all sides and the emptiness of the clan’s weapons store, the Queen fell onto her knees and prayed to the old gods for deliverance. Her prayers were answered and the village rose up to the sky, a mighty fortress that, though eventually conquered, would live on in legend. The Queen’s Valley.   
  
As stories went, it was a nice one, but not a single syllable of it ran through Morgana’s mind as she chased over hillocks and through ditches after her knight.  _Her knight_ , oh God, that sounded dangerous. It sounded precariously like the creak of gallows or the tightening of a noose. But Morgana was resolutely not thinking, so she shook her head to disperse the notion and gathered up the reins.   
  
Before long, they were nearing the point at which the downward hills to the valleys met. Morgause pulled up with an abruptness that made mist pirouette up to her shoulders and her horse whinny in what was either objection or excitement. Moving at the speed that she was, Morgana had only a split second to tug on her reins before she would have collided with the chestnut mare. She was not impressed.   
  
“What are you doing?” Morgana shouted, breathing heavily from the exertion of her ride and the shock both. Any fondness she had felt for the blonde in the courtyard had swiftly disappeared. “Do you have any sense of peril whatsoever? I am the Queen. You have conducted this whole outing with about as much regard for my safety as my husband’s opponents would!”   
  
Morgause’s mouth fell open in genuine surprise.   
  
“Do you have any idea how easy it would have been for someone to shoot me from my horse? For someone to snatch me without you even noticing?” Morgana continued, fury blazing in her chest. “You are supposed to be my guard! You are supposed to be protecting me! Is this why I’ve never seen you before? Is this your first time out of the training yard?”   
  
“Morgana,” Morgause protested.   
  
“I am your Queen and you will address me so,” Morgana snapped.   
  
“I – I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Morgause apologised, bowing her head and keeping her eyes downcast. Though she seemed disappointed, she did not appear shaken. There was constant veneer of calmness about her that seemed never to falter. “I did not intend to fail or displease you. I thought that you were enjoying the ride.”    
  
Morgana had enjoyed the ride. She had _really_  enjoyed it. It was the first time she had felt that alive since she didn’t know when.   
  
“Yes, well,” Morgana muttered, her horse – who, it was just dawning on her, was now named Nightmare – fidgeting beneath her. Her heart strings were being pulled upon again.   
  
“Don’t do it again or I shall have you-” she stopped, her throat refused to say ‘have you hanged’. The thought made her feel sick. Was she really becoming so like her husband that she had been about to threaten that so casually. “I’m sorry,” she breathed, “I didn’t mean...”   
  
“You were right,” Morgause said, looking up at Morgana through her eyelashes, her head still bowed. “I understand if you wish to return to the castle.”   
  
“No!” Morgana said quickly. “No,” more demurely, “there is no need for that.” There was something about the way Morgause conceded to her that made Morgana feel guilty and a thrill all at the same time.   
  
“Then perhaps a walk in the forest,” Morgause suggested, her stance still deferential. It was evident to both of them that Morgana had no intention of hunting boar. She didn’t have so much as cavalry bow to arm herself with.    
  
Morgana nodded her acquiescence.   
  
  
  
  
“Have you been to the valley before, Your Majesty?” Morgause asked sometime later when their horses walked side by side along an ill-worn path.   
  
“No,” Morgana admitted, “I have not. It is the rare occasion that I am granted permission to leave the city walls, now I am married.” She shook her head. “I should not have said that. I meant no slight against my husband. Safety is a concern, as you can imagine.”   
  
“You are free to say whatever you wish to me, Your Majesty. I will not go running to your husband with tales of your loose tongue,” Morgause promised, shooting a sideways smile at Morgana.   
  
“My husband is the King,” Morgana warned lightly.   
  
“And you are the Queen,” Morgause reminded her.   
  
“What is a Queen,” Morgana sighed. It wasn’t a question.   
  
Morgause frowned.   
  
“Never mind that,” Morgana dismissed. “Tell me about yourself. How did you become the only female knight in the land? I didn’t know such things were possible.”   
  
“There is very little that is impossible,” Morgause said smoothly. “My father, he fought alongside the King and your father at the battle of Illhelm. He was one of the three.”    
  
“You are a Wilde?” Morgana exclaimed, she knew the story well. She had begged her father to tell it to her over and over as a child, her favourite diversion from bedtime. “Like the Queen of this valley.”   
  
Morgause nodded, as though being the legacy of a legend was something normal. To her, it was. “Only your husband, your father and my father – a conscripted knave – survived. The King decreed that my father and all his descendents be knights of the realm, despite our less than noble blood. When my father died without a male heir, the King had no choice but to honour his word and have me trained as a knight.”   
  
“I truly did not believe my husband would grant such a thing to a woman,” Morgana said, surprised. He had never shown her the slightest respect as an equal. Maybe she was doing him a disservice.   
  
“I’m here aren’t I?” Morgause charmed. “I have my own armour and everything.”   
  
Morgana laughed. “That you do.”   
  
  
  
  
When she returned to her chambers in good spirits, Morgana found Uther waiting for her.   
  
“Is the council adjourned already?” Morgana needn’t have asked. She knew the answer. It was late afternoon, almost evening, the council would have called it a day hours ago.   
  
“It is later than you think if you ask me such a question,” Uther said, unusually good natured.   
  
Morgana smiled, nodded and walked quickly to towards the screen. “There were no boars in The Queen’s Valley,” she said conversationally, “perhaps a carless hunter has scared them off.”   
  
“Perhaps. How did you find the horse?”   
  
“She is a steady ride, if a little unfit.” Morgana pulled her shirt over her head and looked at herself appraisingly in the mirror. She had a bruise on her left side from a carless dismount in the forest. If she closed her eyes she could still feel Morgause’s arms catching her, her hot breath against her neck and her murmured, ‘my Queen’.   
  
“And the knight?” Now Uther sounded amused.   
  
“She was very good,” Morgana said, smiling to herself. “I’d have her again.”   
  
“Good, I was thinking of appointing her as your personal guard. She is good for little else,” Uther said, far closer behind her than Morgana had been expecting, causing her to jump. He put his hands on her bare waist. What he wanted was evident from his very presence in her chambers. They slept separately and only came together in the same bed for one thing.   
  
“It is still light out,” Morgana gasped as he leant into her, sliding his rough hands up and over.   
  
“I am the King,” Uther laughed, low and deep, “I can go to bed in the day if I wish. I could even make a law insisting upon it.”   
  
“I should bathe,” Morgana protested. “The ride was exerting.”   
  
“You want me to have an heir don’t you?” Uther asked. It always came down to that. “To see your son sit on the throne?”   
  
“Of course,” Morgana sighed, closing her eyes.   
  
“Well then,” Uther said, turning Morgana around and backing her against the wall. “Take off your breeches.”   
  
  
  
  
After Uther had finished and left Morgana in search of other entertainment, the Queen slipped on a simple white dress and made for the nearest tower. Up there, with only the stars above her she felt calm. It was the only place in the city that she could be free from the vigilant eyes that waited to relay any wrong move she made to the King. The people might love her, but the knights were loyal to Uther alone. And there was nowhere in Camelot that the knights weren’t watching you, except the tower – but not this time   
  
“Oh,” Morgana said upon opening the door at the top of the tower, “I- I didn’t know there was anyone up here.” She was about to turn and dash back down the steps when the figure leaning against the low stone battlements turned around. It was the knight who had accompanied on the ride earlier that day.   
  
“Your Majesty,” Morgause tipped her head in a bow. “If you wish to be alone I can-”   
  
“No,” Morgana interrupted. “Some company would be nice.” She walked forwards and looked over the edge, resting her hands on the rough stone. “It surprises me still, how high up we are.”   
  
“Highest man-made structure in the land,” Morgause commented. “At least that is the party line.”   
  
Morgana laughed lightly, clutching her floating shall with crossed arms. “There are a lot of things the Crown would have the people believe.”    
  
“You sound disillusioned,” Morgause said, concern colouring her face as she put her hand on the Queen’s arm.   
  
“It has been a bad day,” Morgana murmured, looking down at Morgause’s hand. She caught the blonde’s gaze and though she expected her to take her hand away, she didn’t.   
  
“Not down to me I hope.” Morgause smiled again and for a moment Morgana forgot how to breathe.   
  
“No. I had a good time in the valley. Thank you.” Morgana looked out at the horizon. It was so dark that she couldn’t see where the land ended and the sky began.   
  
“What has happened in such a short time?” Morgause asked, her hand still heavy on Morgana’s arm.    
  
Morgana turned away and drifted to the other side of the tower, looking out at the wilderness beyond the castle. “Uther has made you my personal guard,” she said. “You are to start immediately.”   
  
“I heard,” Morgause said from across the tower. She was standing with one hip cocked, leaning back against the battlements. Her formal armour had been shed and she was clothed instead in a light chainmail, fitted with a wide belt, which hung loose over her dark leather breeches. It was a curiously feminine take on armour that Morgana had never seen before and doubted she ever would again. “Does that please you?”   
  
Something fluttered low in Morgana’s stomach.   
  
“I have been moved to the chambers adjacent to your private rooms.”   
  
“I hope you have not been taken from your home,” Morgana said, casting a glance to Morgause over her shoulder, “or left a family behind.”   
  
“No family.”   
  
Another flutter.   
  
“Your husband then.” There was no way that anyone who looked like Morgause could be without a husband, of that Morgana was certain.   
  
“No,” Morgause said carefully. “No husband.”   
  
“Why ever not?” Morgana asked before she could stop herself. She spun around and brought her hand up to cover her mouth when she realised what she had said and how it had sounded.   
  
“I am not the marrying kind,” Morgause explained neutrally. Experience had taught her that saying outright that she had no intention of getting a husband didn’t go down well. Especially, with the married.   
  
“You might change your mind,” Morgana suggested, turning back to the rising moon, “if you met the right person.”   
  
With her back to the other woman, Morgana did not see Morgause’s smile when she said, “I think I might.”


	3. Chapter 3

After Morgana abandoned the tower to a midnight downpour and bid Morgause goodnight, a heavy feeling of contentment settled in her limbs. She wasn’t used to the feeling. It didn’t happen very often. More frequently, she would slip into bed with a feeling of dread in her bones. She would lie awake then, thinking of a hundred possible futures, a hundred nightmares come to life. In a world where magic flourished in the darkness, taking hold of the innocent and twisting them into weapons, the Queen of Camelot would never be safe. Every decision her husband made set them off down another path, careering through a maze of right and wrong, never knowing which direction they were headed in. He tried to do what was right, she knew that, but it was so hard to know what right was.    
  
Hours of sleep were lost to such worries and hours to things altogether more superficial. But only one thing ran through her mind as she lay awake that night. Only one face smiled behind her closed eyes. Only one ghosted memory of touch made her shiver under her silken sheets. Only one laugh danced in the dark. Never before had she been so consumed with someone that they become her every waking thought, every heart-pounding dream. She couldn’t have slept for more than a couple of hours, but when the sound of the morning fire being lit roused her the next morning, she felt as though she had slumbered for an age.   
  
“Good morning, Your Majesty,” came Gwen’s teasing voice from the fireplace. “Sleep well?”   
  
“Mmmmm,” Morgana moaned, stretching under the covers.   
  
“I’ll take that as a yes then, shall I?” Gwen laughed, striding over to place a bowl of heated water on Morgana’s bedside table. She tilted her head and looked at Morgana for a long moment, a smile growing on her face.   
  
“What?” Morgana asked, sitting up.   
  
“You look different,” Gwen said decisively. “I have one day off sick and I come back to see you looking...” She smiled and shook her head. “You look good Morgana.”   
  
“I like that,” Morgana said quickly, before her confidence could ebb, “when you call me Morgana. Keep doing it.”   
  
Gwen smiled at her fondly, indulgingly. “You are the Queen now.”   
  
“And you are my oldest and dearest friend. If I can’t be just me with you, then who?” Morgana asked, closing her hand around Gwen’s wrist and tugging it gently, like she used to when they were children, playing hide and seek in the labyrinth like gardens.   
  
Looking down at Morgana’s hand on her wrist, Gwen relaxed. “You only had to ask.”   
  
And just like that, Morgana’s life started to change. Never again would she wait for months to hear someone utter her name.    
  
As she got ready for the day, she laughed with Gwen, recalling her ride with Morgause and trying not to gush.   
  
“You like her then,” Gwen smirked, fastening a pendent around Morgana’s neck.   
  
“Yes,” Morgana said easily.   
  
“And she’s your personal guard now?”   
  
“Yes.” Morgana nodded.   
  
“So she’ll be spending all of her time with you?”   
  
“Yes,” Morgana said again, wondering where this was going.   
  
“And you will be spending all of your time with her?” Gwen’s eyes were twinkling.   
  
“Gwen, what – ”   
  
“All I’m saying is that you look happy, Morgana, and if she’s the reason-”   
  
“Guinevere!” Morgana admonished, laughing.   
  
“If she’s the reason,” Gwen continued, “then I think that you should let yourself be happy.” She put her hands on Morgana’s shoulders and squeezed them, smiling at her through the mirror.   
  
  
  
Taking in a deep breath, Morgana knocked on the dark-stained wooden door. The knock was very considered, neither too firm nor too weak. It was just the sort of knock that you would want to be associated with you calling casually – though, with a purpose – on someone who you didn’t know too well. At least that was what Morgana told herself.   
  
“Come in,” came a muffled voice from within.   
  
Morgana exhaled, twisted the catch and pushed.   
  
“Your Highness.” Morgause inclined her head in a bow.   
  
Morgana bit her lip and tried to remember what the proper response was.   
  
“Did you sleep well?” Morgause asked, turning from Morgana to continue unpacking shirts from a small wooden chest on the bed.   
  
“I – Yes,” Morgana said, a little annoyed at being done out of her greeting. “And you?”   
  
“I packed.” Morgause threw a smile over her shoulder at Morgana.    
  
“That sounds thrilling,” Morgana said sarcastically, slowly getting her control back.   
  
Morgause laughed. “I’m sure that compared to your life, it sounds deathly dreary.”   
  
“Not at all.”   
  
“What business do you have today?” Morgause asked.   
  
“The council, not too exciting I fear.” Morgana took a step forward and allowed the door to close. The room Morgause had been allocated was small – well, it was small to Morgana. The Queen, however, was not ignorant and did not say so. She knew how small some of the houses were in the town. Most consisted of a single room.   
  
“Better than being stuck in the training yard, fetching swords and shields for the other knights,” Morgause said casually, hefting her trunk off the bed, dropping it and kicking it underneath.   
  
“They treated you so badly?” Morgana asked, troubled. “Even Sir Leon?”   
  
“He was always chivalrous, kind even,” Morgause assured her. “Are you ready, Your Highness?”   
  
“Make sure that your shoes are well worn in, you will be standing,” Morgana suggested in a tone that told of her experience in giving orders.   
  
“How long will the council sit?” Morgause asked, taking her sword and sheath from the hook on the bedpost and securing it loosely around her waist on a belt that hinted at the curves beneath her shapeless chainmail.   
  
“Today is the third day of the week. They will not sit for only few hours. I hope.”   
  
Morgause smiled and nodded.   
  
  
After the council was done for the day, Morgana took her leave from the castle in favour of the warmth of the gardens. She spent little time there during the winter but the seasons were thawing and the day was unusually balmy. Any opportunity to escape from the cold stone of the castle was one she would take.   
  
“I don’t suppose you have much of a liking for gardens?” Morgana ventured, brushing her hand over the low hedge. “Knights never do.”   
  
Morgause smiled. “I am not your average knight.”   
  
“No,” Morgana agreed. They walked for a while in silence. “I’ve never had a personal guard before. I’m not really sure what you are supposed to do.”   
  
Laughing, Morgause brought her hand to the hilt of her sword. “I kill anyone who tries to hurt you, insult you or touch you without your consent.”   
  
Morgana bit her tongue before she could say, ‘like my husband’. “And it doesn’t bother you, the killing?”   
  
Morgause shook her head. “Not I have a good reason.”   
  
“Have you –,” Morgana took a deep breath, looking down at her feet moving over the pebble path, “– have you killed before?” Thick dread bubbled in her stomach. She knew it happened, but she couldn’t imagine someone Morgause taking a life, even if she was a knight.   
  
Haulting, Morgause put her hand –unlike the other knights, ungloved – on Morgana’s arm, stopping her too. “Yes,” she said gently.    
  
“Tell me.” It was soft, but unmistakably an order.   
  
“Two seasons ago, when the Northern invaders attacked during the snowstorm.”   
  
“How many?” Morgana asked, it came out as a whisper. She couldn’t breathe.   
  
“Eight,” Morgause held her gaze.    
  
Horror washed ice-cold over Morgana’s features.   
  
“They had breached the walls of the castle and were headed for the great hall.”   
  
“That’s – I didn’t know,” Morgana gasped. “No one told me that they had reached the castle. I was in the hall.”   
  
Nodding, Morgause said, “I know.”    
  
“I – I don’t...”Morgana stuttered, unable to meet Morgause’s eyes.   
  
“It is a knight’s duty to lay down their lives for those they serve. For you, I do it gladly.” There was a resigned and resolute pain in Morgause’s eyes, which made Morgana’s heart skip a beat. It was loyalty to those she had vowed to protect, unbreakable and heartbreaking. She looked as though she had seen the whole world, with all of its ills and all of its flaws, yet loved it still.    
  
The heat that Morgause had stirred in Morgana when she caught her from falling in the valley rose again, stronger this time. It spread like fire through her body, tingling and burning and...    
  
“You don’t have to understand. I just need to know that if the time comes, you will let me do what I must to protect you,” Morgause said, sounding every bit the reluctant martyr.   
  
“I understand,” Morgana said quickly.   
  
Morgause nodded and continued walking.    
  
The conversation was over and Morgana couldn’t help but feel that something had changed.   
  
  
  
“I want to apologise,” Morgana said a few days later. It late and the party was almost over. With more than a little wine flowing dizzyingly through Morgana’s veins, she had stepped out onto the balcony, seeking the clarity of cold night air.   
  
“For what?” Morgause queried. They were alone on the balcony now, as most of the guests had been escorted stumbling back to their rooms by their servants. As a knight, Morgause should have been a guest at the party but the King had issued her no invitation and had made it expressly clear that her only role for the knight was, as always, to protect Morgana. “You need not apologise to me, Your Highness.”   
  
“I do,” Morgana whispered, letting the flower in her hand – a token she had reluctantly accepted from one of the younger knights – pirouette down into the darkness. “For how I acted, in the garden.” She looked briefly to Morgause and then away again. “It was unforgivable.”   
  
“Don’t think on it,” Morgause soothed. “You meant no harm. I don’t think you could intentionally act harshly if you tried.”   
  
“No,” Morgana insisted. “I need to apologise. You lay down your life for me, for the people of Camelot, every day. I was ungrateful and naive.” Her voice was strange. “I’m sorry.”   
  
“Your apology, as unnecessary as it is, is accepted.” Morgause smiled slightly, tilting her head to the side.   
  
Morgana turned to her, head spinning. “Can I ask you something?”   
  
Still smiling, Morgause nodded. “Of course.”   
  
“How did your father come to be a knave?” Morgana asked. “Your blood is royal, is it not?”   
  
Sighing, Morgause turned to the flickering lights beyond the castle. “A long time ago, my family had power,” she agreed, “but there was not royalty as there is today. Small towns and villages were ruled over by clan chieftains – warlords, the Romans called them. When they invaded, they took out the chieftains and put those who had aided them in power over new Roman towns.”   
  
“And your family?”   
  
“Some escaped, I don’t know how. I am here, though, so they must have,” Morgause concluded.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Morgana comforted, putting her hand over Morgause’s.   
  
“It is far removed from here,” Morgause whispered, turning again to Morgana.   
  
“Right now, everything seems far away,” Morgana murmured. She was trapped in trapped in Morgause’s gaze, unable to look away, unable to move. They were close, closer than either of them had realised, and they were drifting closer and closer.   
  
“Morgana!” Uther called from inside.   
  
The two women jumped apart.   
  
“There you are,” Uther said, looking out onto the balcony. “What are you doing?”   
  
“I’m afraid that I am unwell, my Lord” Morgana lied, clutching her stomach.   
  
Uther sighed in annoyance. “Fine.” And stormed back into the crowd.   
  
“Are you alright?” Morgause asked, moving to support her Queen. “You should have told me you felt ill.”   
  
Morgana hid her smile and let Morgause fuss.   
  
  
Several days passed, in which Morgana and her new guard settled into a comfortable routine. Morgause followed everywhere the Queen went, never letting more than a few inches open up between them. They spent the majority of Morgana’s free time doing things that were usually denied to her on the grounds of safety. She took trips to the town and tried to wander around the cramped streets with as little commotion as was possible. More time was spent in the garden as well. It turned out that, despite Morgana’s preconceptions, Morgause enjoyed that.    
  
“And what is that one?” Morgause asked, pointing at a lilac flower that closely resembled a daisy. Most of the plants in the garden had been imported from foreign land by the King’s first wife or gifted by exotic kings. Morgana could name each one Morgause pointed to.   
  
“That,” Morgana began, smiling, “is the Aster. It is an amulet of love, named for the Greek goddess, Astræa, of the starry sky. It is said that she looked down upon the earth and cried, for there were no stars on the earth. Those tears became the Asters. It is one my favourites. It is so often overlooked for being plain.” She bent down to pick one. “I think it’s beautiful.” She held it out to Morgause, smiling impishly. “You should wear it at the tournament tomorrow. You are my champion after all.”   
  
Morgause stared at the flower in her hand. “Thank you, my Queen.”   
  
“You don’t know what to do with it, do you?” Morgana laughed.   
  
Morgause shook her head.   
  
“You have never had a favour before?”   
  
Again, Morgause shook her head. “Funnily enough, none of the women want to give me their favour. Not when there are men who they might charm.”   
  
With a flash of mischief in her eyes, Morgana ripped a strip of blue silk from her sleeve. “Give me your arm,” she commanded. When Morgause complied, Morgana pressed the flower to the knight’s arm and tied it in place with the ribbon she had ripped from her dress. “Like this,” she instructed. “Make sure that people can see it, that’s the point.”   
  
“You have ruined your dress,” Morgause protested.   
  
“Gwen will fix it,” Morgana dismissed. “The point is that people will know who has given it to you. No one else has a dress this colour in Camelot.”   
  
Looking at the bright blue around her arm, Morgause vowed, “Then I had better win.” She looked back to Morgana.   
  
Morgana smiled. “Yes, you had.”   
  
  
“I feel the need to constantly do exciting things, to entertain you,” Morgana said later that night, sat at her dining table. She was writing invitations to the surrounding royal families. The next day’s tournament winner would go on to face the nominated champion of the other kingdoms. It was all part of Uther’s bid to keep their armies at bay. “This, I fear, is not entertaining.”   
  
Morgause smiled. “I’m more than happy.” She was sharpening her sword a couple of feet away, something which was making Morgana feel very peculiar things indeed.   
  
The door opening brought Morgause instantly to her feet, sword brandished.    
  
Uther narrowed his eyes at her. “You dare wield a weapon at the  _King_ ?”   
  
“I protect your Queen. I will lift a weapon to anyone who takes step towards her unbidden,” Morgause said sternly, reluctantly lowering her sword but still gripping it tightly.   
  
“Good,” Uther said, heavily patting her shoulder. “But I am her husband, so shoo.”   
  
Morgause turned to Morgana, who nodded, before taking her leave. After she had closed the door behind her, sealing Morgana and the King alone, she took a step to the side and leaned back against the wall. In the little time she had known Morgana, she had come to the conclusion that she would take any measure to keep her safe – she would even kill the King if it came to it. There was no way she would leave her alone.   
  
For what seemed like eternity, Morgause stood guard and listened. She listened to the heavy grunts of the King, the repeated knocking of the bed or some table or other against the wall, Morgana’s occasional cry. For most of the time, the Queen was silent, but every now and again she would let out a strangled sob or gasp. It made Morgause’s blood boil and run cold, all at the same time. She tried so hard not to think of what the King was doing or the look of reluctance in Morgana’s eyes as she nodded her consent for Morgause to leave.   
  
Gwen came to undress Morgana for the night, and shared a pained look with Morgause when she took in the situation, grunts and all. She left having extracted a promise from Morgause to look after Morgana after he left. Morgause, of course, swore that she would.   
  
When Uther finally emerged, the moon was at its highest in the sky.   
  
“You’re still here,” he observed distastefully.   
  
“Yes, Your Highness,” Morgause said, barely able to keep herself from saying anything else.   
  
Without another word, he turned and left, leaving the door to Morgana’s chambers open.   
  
“My Queen? Morgana?” Morgause whispered into the darkness, closing the door putting on the catch to keep out any more visitors. Only the fire was lit, giving out a deep orange glow that barely managed to light up the hearth. Morgause lit and candle from the burning logs and walked towards Morgana’s bed by memory, running her free hand along chairs and the dressing table. Reaching her destination, she placed the candle on the low table and sat gently on the bed.   
  
Morgana was sat with her arms around her knees, naked, but for the bed sheet she had pulled around herself. She was staring silently into the dark.   
  
“Oh, Morgana,” Morgause whispered. She wanted to reach out and comfort the woman she was charged with protecting, but was too afraid. “You shouldn’t let him do this to you.”   
  
“He is the King,” Morgana murmured, as though this gave him free reign to do whatever he pleased. She stared right through Morgause. “He doesn’t mean to upset me, he just wants an heir.”   
  
“Upset you? Morgana, he  _hurts_  you,” Morgause insisted. It was dark, but she could make out the beginnings of a bruise on Morgana’s shoulder.   
  
“He doesn’t mean to,” Morgana said again, as if it was a mantra she repeated in her head over and over. “If only I could bear him a son,” her voice broke, “he would leave me in peace.”   
  
The thought made Morgause shudder, so she pushed it away.   
  
“You are worth so much more than this,” she whispered fiercely.   
  
“I am the Queen,” Morgana said sadly, finally looking at Morgause, “bearing an heir is exactly what I am worth.”


	4. Chapter 4

 

The morning sun brought no peace to the troubled knight, as she knew it would not to the Queen who it was her duty to protect. She had failed. When Morgana had needed her most, she had proven herself to be utterly useless. She hadn’t even known how to comfort her.

“Why aren’t you wearing your armour?”

Morgause dragged her eyes away from the window and bowed her head to her annoyed looking Queen. She had a way of moving about the castle that made no noise at all and knew that she did not have to knock to enter any room. This often meant that you had no idea she was there. Morgana liked it that way.

“Good morning, Your Highness.” Morgause bowed her head low in greeting. It wouldn’t make up for the lack of respect she had been shown by the King the night before, but it was the best that Morgause could do.

“Why aren’t you wearing your armour? The tournament begins this morning,” Morgana repeated. There was no sign of the Morgana who had sat naked and bruised on her still damp bed the previous night. The person standing in the middle of Morgause’s room was a strong woman who held her head high and would not be defied.

 “I’m not competing,” Morgause said when the silence became too much. The tournament was for real knights, not silly women playing out of their depth. She was a knight in name alone.

“Yes you are,” Morgana told her. She crossed to the bed and fingered Morgause’s polished gardbrace. “Come here.”

Morgause’s eyes pinched in confusion.

“Come here,” Morgana ordered, firmer.

Morgause didn’t move, not out of disobedience but shock.

“You answer to me, do you not?” Morgana’s eyes flashed. “So come here!”

Morgause did as she was told, though not without an embarrassing thrill of heat at Morgana’s tone. Morgana hadn’t spoken to her with so much fire since the day they had met and then it had made her go weak at the knees.

“You are  _my champion_  and you will cut down every challenger until you are the last one standing, is that clear?” Morgana demanded.

Morgause nodded slowly.

“Good.”

“I should call for a servant to do this,” Morgause said a few minutes later, watching as Morgana lifted up her pauldron.

“Whose champion are you?” Morgana asked, turning Morgause around by the shoulders.

“Yours,” Morgause said with a smile.

“Exactly, now hold still.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

“Call me Morgana.”

“Yes, Morgana.”

“You need to forget about last night,” Morgana said quietly as she tightened the strap that fixed the front half of Morgause’s pauldron to her breastbone. She ran her hands out from the gap between the knight’s shoulder blades, applying pressure with her thumbs. “You will be knocked out in the first round with this much tension in your muscles. You need to relax.”

Morgause made to protest but was already leaning into Morgana’s touch.

“Now,” Morgana began, “believe me when I say that you can and will win this tournament. You are my champion, you will be wearing my favour and the Queen’s champion does not lose, not to anyone. And when the day is done, you will sit victoriously at the head table for the feast, the envy of every knight in the kingdom.” She pressed harder with the heels of her palms and Morgause squirmed and gasped.

“Yes, Morgana.”

 

 

 

The weight of Morgana’s expectations sat heavy on Morgause’s loosened shoulders as she drew her sword to face her first opponent and did not lessen throughout the tournament. Morgana had been right, she was the Queen’s champion and there were certain expectations that came with that. She didn’t know exactly when she had become Morgana’s champion instead of her guard but she would wear the title proudly. No one had taken her seriously as a knight before Morgana. For the first time, someone looked to her to protect them and believed that she could do it.

Every second she was in the arena, she could feel Morgana’s eyes on her, watching her, willing her to win. When Sir Michael’s perfectly timed lunge over balanced her, she could hear the Queen’s gasp crystal clear amongst the silence of the crowd’s held breath, and the sound alone gave her the strength to throw Sir Michael off and get back to her feet. But there was only so much strength that Morgana’s presence and her favour around her arm could give her. As quick and nimble as she was with a sword and as skilled as with a horse, she did not win the tournament. Sir Leon did.

“You were wonderful,” Morgana whispered, hugging her fiercely. “I was honoured to have you wear my favour.”

“I didn’t win,” Morgause said disappointedly. For a moment at the beginning of the final, she really thought that she could beat Sir Leon.

“You won to me.”  It was barely a murmur but Morgause was sure she had heard the words slip from Morgana’s pinked lips as she pulled back from the hug.

 “Next year you will sit triumphant beside the King at the banquet,” Morgana promised, “but tonight you are mine.”

Morgause almost forgot to breathe.

“The runner up in the tournament gets to escort the Queen to the feast, didn’t you know?” Morgana knew full well that she didn’t know. The King had only decided it minutes before when Morgana had reminded him that if Sir Leon fell ill or was injured, Morgause would be Camelot’s champion for the inter-kingdom tournament. She had said it in the hope that he would treat Morgause with a little more respect, the reputation of the kingdom could rest on her shoulders and she had proved herself more than capable in the tournament. Uther’s suggestion that she accompany Morgana had been a pleasant and unforeseen consequence.

“If I had known then I would have lost the last mach on purpose,” Morgause said, smiling charmingly. She couldn’t make up for the irreverence that the King treated Morgana with but she could damn well try.

“I hoped you were going to say that.”

From the look in Morgana’s eyes, Morgause got the distinct impression that if they had not been in a tent with squires coming in and out, Morgana would have kissed her.

 

 

If there was one thing that Morgause prided herself on, it was her ability to wear armour and a gown to equal effect, to go between both worlds. Nothing she owned could hold a candle to even the least grand of Morgana’s dresses but she wouldn’t want them to.

In the end, she chose a deep purple gown with elegant lines and a silver trim. It had been her mother’s many years earlier when her parents had graced the high society of Camelot after her father’s knighting. She had never worn it before, nor did she remember her mother wearing it, but she was pleased with the effect. It clung in all the right places and fell to the floor to hide her overly toned legs, giving a view that was wholly different to her chainmail and breeches. If people at the feast didn’t already know she was a knight, they would never be able to guess.

Awaiting Morgana outside the great hall, Morgause felt ice cold nervousness in the pit of her stomach. She was sure that she wasn’t imagining the connection that was building between the two of them. What she wasn’t sure of was how Morgana would react to seeing her looking like the ladies who frequented these parties.

A soft hand on her upper arm alerted her of Morgana’s presence, silent as ever.

“My champion,” Morgana greeted, kissing her cheek.

“My Queen.” Morgause returned the kiss to Morgana’s porcelain cheek. She heard Morgana’s breath catch.

“You are undoubtedly the most beautiful knight in Camelot,” Morgana breathed, sweeping her eyes appreciatively, though not inappropriately, up Morgause’s body. “Definitely the best looking in a dress.”

Morgause laughed at that and relaxed. “I would hope so. Though there were some rumours about Sir Leon a few years ago...”

“You’re just a sore loser,” Morgana quipped, offering her arm for Morgause to take. “Shall we?”

As the doors were opened to them and the collected nobles audibly breathed in at the sight of them, Morgause leaned over to whisper in Morgana’s ear, “You are quite literally breathtakingly gorgeous and every single person in this room knows it.”

The only sign that Morgana had heard her was a slight jerk of her arm in Morgause’s.

 

 

 “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful before?” Morgana asked, more steady on her feet than she usually was after banquets. They were at the top of the tower, where Morgana was watching a lone wispy cloud drift across the star filled sky. She didn’t think she had ever seen so many stars.

“Never,” Morgause murmured, not looking at the stars. She was stood a little behind Morgana, watching the Queen leaning against the low stone battlements and looking out at the night sky. There truly was nothing she had ever seen that even came close to matching Morgana’s beauty.

“I wonder sometimes,” Morgana began distantly, “if there are people out there on some other world watching the sky too, thinking they are alone in creation. Uther says it’s blasphemy but still, I wonder. We know so little about the world and what lies beyond it. I think we restrain the questions we ask in fear of not liking the answers. We want so desperately to think that we are at the centre of God’s creation, that we are special. Maybe that is foolish of us.”

“Perhaps,” Morgause agreed, moving to lean beside Morgana, “but maybe it just means that we are human. Here in Camelot may not be the centre of creation but it is the centre of our lives. It is where those we love are. That, I think, is more important than anything so distant as the stars could ever be.”

Morgana turned and looked at Morgause with soft, bright eyes. “I can’t imagine any other knight saying something so beautiful.”

“Hard as I try, I will never be like the other knights,” Morgause whispered conspiratorially, bumping her shoulder lightly against Morgana’s and smiling.

“I’m glad,” Morgana smiled. “I’ve been thinking for a while about taking a trip to visit my aunt in Mermering. She was too ill to travel her for my wedding but she’s getting better now. I should have gone earlier but I couldn’t face it. She’s the only family I have left but I haven’t seen her for four years and she only lives a week’s ride away. Isn’t that ridiculous?”

“You’ve never had a dashing knight to escort you before,” Morgause smirked.

Morgana’s heart skipped a beat. “No, I haven’t.”


	5. Chapter 5

Morgana knew that her chances of persuading Uther were low. They rested largely on what she was willing to do. Visiting her aunt would take a month at least. The journey to Mermering was, at its shortest, a week long. Then there would be stay of around two weeks, as was polite, before a further week long journey home. That was an entire moon cycle during which Camelot would be without its Queen and Uther would be without... She wasn’t naive enough to think he would go without, he was bedding several of the maids a few more ladies of the court. There would be a month’s gap in tryng for an heir though, and that was what he would find unacceptable.

“My Lord,” Morgana dipped her head in a bow. She had gone to his chambers, which meant that he knew she wanted something. There wasn’t any other reason she would appear at his door unbidden.

“What is it?” Straight to business.

“Do you remember my aunt in Mermering?” She asked, holding her chin high and confident.

“Your father’s sister,” Uther nodded. Morgana had always gotten the impression that Uther had been a lot fonder of her father than he was of her. They had been close friends, something Uther was short of.

“She was unwell when we wed. I promised I would visit her but more than a year has already passed,” Morgana paused. She had promised her aunt that she would visit once she had bore the child she had been expected to be carrying from her wedding night or soon thereafter. She had been expecting to fall pregnant straight away but she hadn’t. There was, of course, plenty of chance that she would be with child soon, but as more and more time passed, living a life beyond that became her striving desire. Especially, now Morgause had entered her life. “She is not a young woman, nor is she in good health. I fear that if I do not visit her soon, it will be her grave that I am visiting.”

Uther considered this. “How long would you be away?”

“A month.”

He scoffed. “It’s out of the question. Once I have a son, you can take your trip.”

“Please,” Morgana begged softly, reaching for his hand. “I am weary, I need a rest. Maybe then, when I return, you will have your son.” Still, Uther looked unconvinced. “I promise to put everything into giving him to you.”

Again, Uther considered. “A month is a long time to waste Morgana. I, like your aunt, am not as young as I used to be. You know that the kingdom faces war. Without an heir, there would be chaos if anything were to happen to me.”

“I understand that,” Morgana nodded, taking a step into him. “But with the inter-kingdom tournament still not for a few months, we have a reprieve until then, do we not?”

Uther sighed and nodded. “That is my hope.”

“Then give me this,” Morgana pleaded, “and I will give you anything you ask for.”

Uther’s eyes shone as he nodded. Morgana was in no doubt over the deal she had brokered.

 

 

When she returned to her chambers later that evening, Gwen was waiting for her, gazing unseeing out of the window, playing nervously with the dainty gold chain around her neck. The chain, which held a small cross, was a gift from Morgana. She had presented it to her on the morning Gwen had turned twenty, four years earlier. Gwen had blushed profusely when she unwrapped it from the off-cut of silk it was enclosed in and persuaded a dejected Morgana that it was far too precious for her to wear. This was the first time Morgana had seen her wearing it, something which flooded her stomach with even more warm happiness than was already there.

For a moment, Morgana didn’t make a sound, just watched Gwen’s worried fidgeting and smiled.

There was a steaming bath in front of the fire and her favourite meal on the table. Every need she could possibly have was filled by Gwen before Morgana feel what needing was.

Reluctantly, she shut the door with a  _click_  that rang out loudly in the silence, breaking the calm spell the room was swathed in.

Gwen jumped at the noise and turned quickly to fix Morgana with a wide eyed stare, her chain clutched in a hand at her throat. “What did he say?”

“He approved it,” Morgana said smiling brightly. “He said yes. Morgause and I leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Oh Morgana.” Gwen moved quickly towards her and hugged her. It surprised Morgana still, how much she had missed this closeness with her maid, how much her touch still calmed her, like it had soothed her nightmares from childhood. “That’s wonderful.”

“It is,” Morgana whispered, smiling still. She caught Gwen’s eye and made her smile too.

“There is some rose oil in your bath,” Gwen said, taking Morgana’s hand and leading her to the fire. “You will want to be at your best for tomorrow.”

Morgana bit her lip to stop herself from smiling. “What if he had said no?”

“Then you would need to be consoled and there is nothing I know that works better for that than a pleasantly scented bath and a full stomach,” Gwen said knowingly.

Morgan chuckled and wrapped her arms around Gwen’s neck in a hug. “You know me so well.”

“Well enough,” Gwen smiled sweetly.

Within minutes, Morgana was submerged in water hot enough to cleanse away any traces of Uther left on her body, dreaming of her month alone with Morgause as the comforting sound of Gwen moving around the room caressed her ears.

 

 

Before dawn the next morning, Morgana and Morgause rode out from Camelot with the wind at their backs and the rising sun ahead of them. The absolute smallest amount of luggage that Morgana could be persuaded to bring was strapped onto a packhorse which trailed behind them on a tether. The extra animal meant that their progress would be slower than if it were just the two of them, but it lengthened their time on the road and Morgan couldn’t feel sorry for that. Her stomach was churning and tingling in anticipation of something she didn’t dare try to work out. She knew that there was something coming, that made her breath quicken, something good.

“I cannot believe that the King consented to you having only me for protection,” Morgause wondered aloud a few hours into the ride. She didn’t say ‘seeing as you are the Queen’ because she knew that trees eagerly hid prying ears, especially in spring when they were thick with leaves.

“He intends to tell people that I am ill,” Morgana said, shifting a little in her saddle in discomfort. Her back ached already but that didn’t dampen her hopeful mood. “You aren’t complaining are you?”

Something akin to mischief fluttered across Morgause’s face in a smile. “Definitely not. Are you?”

“No,” Morgana said a little too eagerly, blushing when Morgause raised an eyebrow at her. “Though, I will miss Gwen. I’ve never been parted from her for so long.”

“She is lucky to have a mistress who cares for her so much,” Morgause said kindly. She liked Gwen. The girl was clever, kind and, above all, fiercely loyal to Morgana. A knock on Morgause’s door late the night before had been a concerned Gwen, come to warn Morgause of Morgana’s nightmares. She had spent considerable time detailing how to soothe Morgana.  _Whisper softly_ , she had advised,  _and stroke her forehead._   _If that fails,_  she had continued _, hold her gently and hum the lullaby her father used to sing to her_. Morgause had then been taught the lilting tune by the dying light of the fire and had been made to repeat it over and over until Gwen was sure that she had gotten it perfect.

“I’m the lucky one,” Morgana said, smiling wistfully. Being without Gwen was starting to worry her.

“She made me promise to take good care of you and I will not break my word,” Morgause assured her. They were riding close enough to each other that they would be able to talk in whispers and still hear one another.

“I don’t doubt that,” Morgana smiled, charmed by Morgause’s quiet resolve and well hidden heart.

 

The first night, they slept either side of a glowing fire. Morgana slept soundly, wrapped in furs, and Morgause slept lightly, her hand on the hilt of her sword. In the Morning, Morgana was shy and held onto the mists of sleep far longer than Morgause did. She sat in front of the dying embers, cradling a cup of warm milk and watching in small wonderment as Morgause quickly packed up the camp around her. That day, they rode mostly in comfortable silence, commenting every so often on how beautiful the scenery got the further behind them Camelot fell. When the sun was highest in the sky, Morgause made them a small lunch of bread and cheese, which they ate by the side of the path on a fallen tree. By the time night began to creep up on them from the east, Morgana’s eyes were heavy and sleep tugged at her limbs.

Again, they camped. Morgause found a clear, flat piece of ground and started a fire to give them light and warmth, before heading off into the trees to find them dinner.

“Don’t stray from the light of the fire,” she warned Morgana, handing her her sword. “If anyone comes, call for me, I won’t be far.”

Morgana could only nod, nervous, and watch as Morgause took her bow and arrows from her horse and set off soundlessly into the forest. The knight turned huntress returned quickly with a rabbit to find that Morgana had finished setting up the camp and had collected enough wood from the edges of the clearing to get the fire hot enough to cook the meat.

“How did you know I would catch something?” Morgause asked from the darkness. She was butchering her catch outside of the camp, away from Morgana’s eyes.

“I knew that you would,” Morgana said with a faith that made Morgause smile warmly, glad that she was hidden by the dark.

“I can’t promise that I will be successful every night,” Morgause warned. From her position on the periphery, she could see Morgana drop her head, catching the light, and smiling.

“You will.”

Hours later, when the moon was past its peak in the sky, the sound of Morgana tossing and turning woke Morgause from her slumber.

“Morgana,” she whispered, squinting at the flickering vision of Morgana through the flames.

There was no reply, only a troubled moan.

 _“Whisper softly,”_  she heard Gwen whisper in her ear, _“and stroke her forehead.”_

Careful not to make a sound, Morgause got into a crouch and surveyed the edge of the light created by the fire. Confident that they were alone, she picked her way around the fire and settled on the dry ground beside Morgana.

“Shhh,” she soothed, tentatively brushing the back of her fingers over Morgana’s damp forehead. “Hush, Morgana. You are safe, I’m here. I won’t leave you, I promise.” The hilt of her sword jutted painfully into her ribs, but Morgause paid in no notice. Her heart was beating wildly, like she was in battle or on a hunt.

Morgana shifted fitfully, her eyes screwing tight and her lips trembling.

“Hush,” Morgause, whispered. “Morgana, it’s me, wake up beautiful.” The term of endearment fell naturally and unnoticed from her lips.

Though Morgana was obviously in some dream distress, she was at her most beautiful. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of her fire and her furs had dropped to reveal her milk-white neck curving elegantly to her breast. Her trembling lips were deep red, flushed and plumped with blood as they worried against each other, catching on her teeth when she took a deep, shuddering breath. The firelight made her skin glow and seem all the more pale for it, every inch pure and unblemished. She was a vision.

With a start, she awoke.

“It’s me,” Morgause whispered again, cupping her cheek and holding her frightened gaze. “I’m here, you’re safe.”

Morgana’s breaths came quick and arrhythmic, heaving her chest against Morgause’s arm. “I – I – I was dreaming?” she asked, as if she didn’t quite believe it

Morgause nodded, her eyes pinched in concern. “It was just a dream. Do you remember where you are?”

After a moment, Morgana nodded. “We are half a day’s ride away from Carnna, on the road to Mermering.”

Smiling, Morgause nodded and kissed her forehead. “Clever girl. I doubt I would remember that after being awoken from a nightmare in the middle of the night.”

Morgana dipped her head and blushed. Morgause’s hand was still at her cheek, so she covered it with her own and turned to kiss her palm. She felt as though, when she turned back to Morgause, all that existed in the world was the two of them in that tiny bubble of firelight, a breath apart at the lips.

Slowly, Morgause slipped her hand down to cradle Morgana’s jaw. “You must be an angel,” she murmured, “to make me feel like this.”

“Like what?” Morgana asked timidly. Every fibre of her being screamed at her to kiss Morgause, to give her everything and never look back.

“Like I would give my life to kiss you one sweet time.” Morgause didn’t move, just looked deep into Morgana’s eyes and imagined she could see her own love reflected there.

“Then kiss me,” Morgana bid shakily, “please.”

Morgause’s tongue flickered out to moisten her dry lips, before leaning down to press against Morgana lips, soft and fleeting. As she moved away, her head dizzy with the rush of it, Morgana’s hand tangled in her hair and pulled her back for another childlike press of a kiss. Morgana’s little finger at the tender spot behind her ear encouraged her to deepen it, sliding her lips wetly over Morgana’s, who whimpered in response. After a breath, Morgause kissed her again, this time opening her mouth enough to touch her tongue to Morgana’s lip, asking, pleading. Morgana opened to her immediately, inviting her inside with a delicious gasp that made Morgause’s stomach flutter and her blood rush. She found Morgana’s tongue and gently caressed it, tasting her like some rare exotic fruit. This, she was sure, was paradise.

“I’ve prayed all my life for a kiss as sweet as this,” Morgana whispered against her lips, salty tears running down her cheek and into their mouths.

“I rarely pray,” Morgause breathed, “but when I do, it is for you.”

They stayed like that, kissing languidly until the sun flickered in the east and stole the darkness that cradled them, ending their perfect moment, as innocent then as the first touch.


	6. Chapter 6

By the time Morgana woke the next day, the sun was already high in the sky. For a moment she was confused, did not know where she was or what she was doing there. Looking around, she saw that above her, the sky was bright blue through the branches of evergreen trees, mottled with slowly rising smoke, the source of which was close. She rolled onto her side and saw the fire with a metal pot smoking above it. Only it wasn’t smoke, she realised, but steam from something cooking within. Between her and the fire, just off to the right, a knight was crouched over a wooden bowl, her golden hair falling in loose curls down her back. It was then that Morgana’s memories came back to her, making her smile. Stretching out her back, she threw off her furs and sat up, shook the sleep from her head and yawned. She had slept in far past the time she should have risen, that much was clear from not only the position of the sun but the heat of it beating down on her skin.

“Good morning,” Morgause greeted. “Or should I say afternoon?”  She faced the fire still but there was playfulness in her voice.

“Is it really that late?” Morgana questioned, getting unsteadily to her feet and walking over to inspect the pot. There was porridge bubbling inside, thick from being left cooking for too long, but still good. She fetched the other bowl and used the ladle to spoon some of the viscous mixture into it. The smell of honey wafted up and filled her nostrils.

“No, not really,” Morgause smiled softly at her when Morgana joined her on the log, the bowl cradled on her lap. “Though it will soon be noon.”

“I apologise. You should have woken me earlier,” Morgana looked down at her breakfast, suddenly embarrassed. Had they really been close the night before? Had Morgause really held her in her arms and kissed her until she was breathless?

“Better that than you falling from your horse. Then we would lose more than half a day and God knows what else.” Morgause seemed to have noticed her nerves, for she put a comforting hand on Morgana’s knee. The gesture would have been too familiar if they hadn’t spent the night before without so much as a whisper separating their lips.

Morgana smiled and drifted closer to her champion, meeting in the middle for a kiss as sweet as the honey on Morgause’s tongue.

“Then it was not a dream,” Morgana breathed, close enough still to Morgause that their noses touched.

“If it was,” Morgause said, bringing a hand to stroke Morgana’s cheek, “then it was one that we shared.”

Morgana blushed and turned back to her porridge. “What is the plan for the day? We cannot make our planned camp location.”

“No,” Morgause agreed. “Though, Carnna is half a day’s ride from here. There we could find an inn and you could sleep in a bed for the night. You are not used to such continuous vigorous riding. The rest would do you good.”

Morgana’s eyes danced with promise as she nodded her agreement.

 

 

Morgause packed up the camp as Morgana ate her breakfast and they were back on the road before the sun could begin its decline to the west. It was a harder ride than Morgana was used to and the road was not well kept, but they did indeed reach the small village of Carnna before darkness fell. They had to pay the stables to keep the horses over night and Morgause gave the groom a couple extra silver coins for his trouble, biding him to rub and brush down the two mares and bathe the gelding. Beside the stables was a small inn, the likes of which Morgana had never entered before, never mind slept in. With Morgause though, she felt safe.

Whatever strange looks they gained on their way to the bar were quickly averted when the onlookers saw the golden dragon of Camelot emblazoned on Morgause’s cloak. Morgana hadn’t understood why she had donned the cloak that morning – it had been balmy – but quickly understood, a female knight would inspire trouble in the inn-goers but a knight of Camelot would keep them fixed to their seats.

“What rooms do you have available?” Morgause asked the landlady, a small and stout woman who was many years passed her prime.

“Only one. The most expensive,” the landlady said implausibly. The inn was far from heaving with customers.

“What of it?” Morgause enquired further.

“Five silver coins each. For that you get a bed, a bath and a warm fire. And dinner as well if you pay an extra coin.” There was a twinkling of greed in the woman’s eyes and Morgana wondered whether she was giving them a ‘special’ price.

“You can have seven between us and be happy with it,” Morgause said, not unkindly. “It is an honour to offer shelter to a knight of Camelot. The dinner, you will give us as a gesture of good will towards your King. Or would you like me to send word of your disloyalty back to our proud city?” She dropped the seven coins on the bar between them.

“Right you are,” the woman grumbled, snatching up the money before they could change their minds. “It’s the first door up the stairs. I’ll have one of the girls bring you up dinner once you’re settled in.”

Morgause tipped her head to the woman and hitched their bags onto her shoulder. One of the men on a nearby table – one of the many watching the exchange – moved to help, but with one sharp look from Morgause he fled back to his chair and became engrossed with the bottom of his tankard. “Make sure the girl knows how to knock.”

And with that she led the way up the stairs, Morgana following behind, trying to ignore the weight of every eye in the room at her back.

 

 

The room was small. If this was what passed for a ten coin room then Morgana feared for the kingdom’s economy. There was one bed, small and covered in coarse cotton sheets, a table with four chairs and a bath in front of the fire. All of the furniture was carved from the same soft wood and was splintering and unvarnished. It was certainly not what fitting for a Queen, but compared to the hard forest floor, it seemed grand.

Whilst they ate their dinner of salted pork and overcooked vegetables, the girl, who was younger than fifteen, brought hot water to fill the bath and lit a roaring fire in the fireplace. On Morgause’s instruction, she did not bring cold water to cool the bath.

“Let it cool naturally. It won’t be needed straight away,” Morgause had said and the girl, with a nod, left with their empty plates and a silver coin squirreled away in her pocket, away from the landlady’s reach.

“I would wager that they aren’t used to such kindness,” Morgana commented with a smile once they were alone.

“Who?”

“The stable boy and the fetching girl. You are far freer with your coins with the least appreciated of the staff than you are with those who expect it from you,” Morgana said, watching Morgause begin to shed her outer armour.

“Do you not approve?” Morgause asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I do, very much so,” Morgana smiled.

Morgause laughed. “I’m glad.” She was struggling to unbuckle the strap over her shoulder. Morgana rose to help her. “You don’t have to – ”

“Hush,” Morgana cut her off. Her fingers were nimbler than Morgause’s calloused digits and they made fast work of the remaining fastenings, lifting the heavy metal plates from her body. “I don’t know how you bear them all day.”

“They remind me of the weight of my responsibility to the people,” Morgause said, rolling her shoulders in a stretch now that they were free. “Sometimes it helps to have something physical to remind you of what you cannot see.” Her loose white shirt slipped as the relaxed from her stretch to half reveal a black mark on her left shoulder.

“Like this?” Morgana asked, moving the shirt down further so that she could trace the dark symbol with her fingertip. “What does it mean?”

“It is a sigil of the old religion,” Morgause said softly. Morgana’s breath caught. “Members of my family bear it to remember the debt we owe the gods for our deliverance in the Queen’s Valley.”

“The debt of the Wildes can never be paid,” Morgana murmured, remembering the words from her lessons as a child. The history of the Wilde family had been taught to her much in the same way that the history of the Romans, Persians and Greeks had been – great civilisation whose age was long gone. Yet a Wilde lived and breathed right there beneath Morgana’s fingertips, as much a part of the present as Camelot was.

“The old gods are dead and gone if you believe the wise men and the priests. We cannot repay if there is no one to repay to,” Morgause said, shivering slightly from Morgana’s barely-there touch.

“Then why this?” Morgana asked, covering the sigil with her palm.

“Tradition. Family. Honour.” They rolled off Morgause’s tongue like she had said them a thousand times before. “Those are the three promises that a knight lives by. I cannot forget the debt.” She turned her head and smiled. “Plus, it looks pretty.”

Morgana laughed and dropped a daring kiss to the symbol. “That it does.”

When she raised her head, Morgause was waiting for her, swallowing Morgana’s shakily exhaled breath in a soft kiss.

“I want this,” Morgana breathed as Morgause ran her hands down her arms and then up her sides, memorising her undulating silhouette.

“What has gone before can be forgotten. This, I could not forget,” Morgause said, holding Morgana’s gaze.

“I would never ask you to,” Morgana promised. “I couldn’t bear it if you did.”

Morgause took a step closer to Morgana. “I don’t want to hurt you.”  She cupped her jaw, trying to get her to understand what she was saying.

“You could never hurt me.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Morgause vowed sternly. “I meant that I do not want you to feel the sting of guilt after. It can be a heavy burden.”

Morgana shook her head. “How could I feel guilt when I have no husband to betray, not in my heart.” Waves of tingles flowed over her body, one after the other, emitting Morgause’s warm hands on her skin. Ever since their first ride together in the Queen’s Valley, Morgana had been dreaming of this moment, closing her eyes at night and praying for it. “This is where my heart lies, with you. I love  _you_. I want  _you_.”

Morgause kissed her then, more passionately with every passing second. Morgana’s hands were on the curve of Morgause’s waist, pulling in her shirt the give her body back the shape that her clothes hid. She had dreamt of that body, wondering if the golden tone of Morgause’s skin would continue beneath her clothes or if it would paler and even softer. She had imagined the curves, how they would look and how they would feel skin to skin. Her hands wandered.

“Turn around.”

With a flash of heat low in her belly, Morgana turned.

“Please, don’t treat me like I’m made of glass just because of him,” she begged and pulled her hair over her shoulder, exposing the back of her neck. Before she could take a breath, Morgause was kissing her there, trailing down from her hairline, over the base of her neck and followed as her hands went to the fastenings of Morgana’s dress. Morgana’s hand moved back to tangle in Morgause’s hair, desperate to keep the knights lips on her skin, lighting a fire there. She gasped when Morgause’s cool hands slipped onto her back, into either side of the now open gown, arching into the touch. Her hands smoothed up and over Morgana’s shoulders, brushing off the dress which fell uninhibited to the floor, leaving her completely bare.

“No shift,” Morgause breathed, the dark tone to her voice sending shivers down Morgana’s spine.

Morgana swallowed and took a calming breath. “No shift.”

Dizzy with the amount of skin at her fingertips, Morgause took a step into Morgana, flush to her back and snaked her arms around to Morgana’s front.

She tutted into Morgana’s ear, smirking when Morgana gasped at her hot breath and arched back into her, allowing Morgause to get her first look at Morgana’s body over her shoulder. She wasn’t disappointed. Nowhere near.

“I was wrong when I said that you must be an angel,” she murmured against the skin of Morgana’s neck. “How could you be with a body this sinful?” From the catch of Morgana’s breath and the whimper that fell from her lips, she knew that she had said the right thing.

“Sinful,” Morgana repeated, breathy.

“The sin,” Morgause continued, her hands running up and over Morgana’s breasts, feeling them deliciously heavy in her palms, “would be not to worship it as was obviously intended.”

Morgana didn’t say anything else for quite some time. Her voice, she found, had been stolen.

 

 

“This,” Morgana said later, reclining in Morgause’s arms, the warm water of the bath lapping at the underside of her breasts, “is how I shall always bathe from now on.”

Morgause laughed richly by her ear. “I don’t really think Gwen would approve.”

“She wouldn’t be there to complain,” Morgana countered, capturing one of Morgause’s hands and bringing it to her mouth to kiss the deft fingers one by one. She sucked one into her mouth, making Morgause moan. “And besides, she thinks that you are good for me. It turns out that she is quite the rebel.”

Laughing again, Morgause laced the fingers of the hand Morgana was kissing with the fingers on the hand that held it. She kissed Morgana’s black hair and closed her eyes, breathing in the sweet smell of sandalwood oil from the dark locks.

“I never want this night to end,” Morgana whispered.

“We have almost a month of it yet, if we are careful. Beyond that, moments may be stolen back in Camelot if Gwen helps.”

Morgana smiled, thinking of everything they had yet to do. “I never thought that lying with someone could be like this.”

“Like what?” Morgause enquired.

“Like love and... and this, how you made my body feel, are the same thing. Like you want to make me feel good as much as you want to feel that for yourself,” Morgana said uncertainly. She felt foolish and inexperienced where Morgause clearly was not.

“I do,” Morgause said simply and proved her point with her other hand. By the time they left the bath for the bed, half of the water had been spilt on the floor.

 

 

They slept tangled naked in each other’s limbs, the coarse sheet thrown by the side of the bed and the door locked and bolted. Morgana slept, as always, on her stomach, facing the door. Morgause’s arm was slung over her lower back. She lay on her side, awake. In the near darkness, she kept her gaze unwaveringly on Morgana, absurdly afraid that she would disappear if Morgause closed her eyes. It seemed to her like everything good in her life was taken from her.

Her mother had died when she was fifteen and her father had followed almost exactly a year later, leaving her alone with a house of servants and a sword that was too heavy for her to lift. When she fell in love at seventeen and the whole world seemed to fall into place in her head, she found out that women were often fickle and went to bed with whoever had the biggest pockets or the grandest title. By the time she was twenty one, the lesson had been reinforced thrice but by twenty six – the age she was now – she had learnt how to recognise love and honour in another. All of this, she felt, had been leading up to that moment, lying in bed with a slumbering, naked Morgana, waiting for it all to be taken away.

“How could anyone hurt you?” she whispered, watching Morgana’s pitch black hair shift over her brilliant white skin with every sleep-deep breath. “You are the loveliest creature in creation and I swear that I will spend every moment showing you that, my beautiful Queen.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

Morgana awoke first the next morning. She was used to broken sleep and found that by the time the sun started to brighten the sky, she had slept all that she could. The room they had rented for the night looked no better in the day than it had by night. I did however, have a large widow that let in a shaft of light that caught the specks of dust and turned them into stars, and fell onto the rumpled bed, making Morgause glow like gold. And Morgana knew gold. She had dripped in it from head to toe on her wedding day. She had jewellery boxes overflowing with it. None of that gold though, not chain nor pendent, bracelet nor bangle, broach nor earring, could compare to the shear radiant perfection of Morgause’s sleeping form. Nothing else could ever be that beautiful.

Scared that if she moved, the dream would end, Morgana just stood and watched her glittering in the morning light. It was the first time she had seen Morgause out of her mail in daylight; the first time she had seen the subtle definition in her arms and her stomach; the first time she had seen the smooth undulation from her shoulders to her ankles. Morgause looked at once more of knight then Morgana had ever seen her and even more of a woman. She was the perfect balance that Morgana never knew that she craved. Eventually, she made herself look away. If she looked any longer, she was afraid she would never be able to stop.

Her first thought after she had turned from Morgause was that she wanted to bathe again before they left, but she couldn’t call for the fetching girl with her knight asleep naked in bed and she daren’t leave the room. Instead she slipped into the cold water from the night before, thankful that they had swam in a lake a previous day and that they had been clean enough that the bath water was almost crystal clear and still fragrant. The ice of it took her breath away. She swore and closed her eyes as air re-entered her lungs. Every inch of her felt new again, like she had shed her old skin and grown a fresh one that was one hundred times more sensitive than the one before. As the tiny waves she created lapped over her bent legs, they sent delicious shivers over her body. She sighed and slid lower into the water. Until Morgause awoke, she could live inside a dream.

“Cold?”

Morgana almost jumped out of the water. She hadn’t even heard Morgause stir.

“Yes,” Morgana admitted. Her heart beat wildly from the shock and the sight of Morgause both. Her voice was shaky and unsure. She had feared this moment more than anything. When she had entered Uther’s bedchambers on her wedding night, her husband had been warm and kind to her, as he always had been, but when she woke the next morning he was as cold as the water she now sat in. He never treated her with love again, only as a means to an heir and an object to slake his unquenchable lust. Sometimes she wondered if he had held a father’s love for her. Lying with her had ruined that and now he no longer saw the girl he had loved, but the body of a woman that belonged to him and was his to take. Most of all, she thought that was it must be, afterwards.

Morgause laughed lightly and crouched down until she was at level with Morgana.

That laugh was the start of it. The fear grew. Morgana shrank back to the far side of the bath and wrapped her arms around her chest like a skittish mermaid caught by sleazy sailors and dumped in a tank. Morgause wouldn’t love her now, if she ever did.

“What’s wrong?” Morgause asked, her heart sinking into a pool of icy guilt. Morgana had been the one to push it the night before. She had made sure that it was what Morgana had wanted but... Maybe she had gotten it wrong.

Morgana dropped her head and blushed, feeling fooling and far too naked.

“Morgana? Please, tell me what’s wrong,” Morgause begged, reaching out to touch Morgana’s arm but pulling back sharply when Morgana flinched. Her guilt deepened and entwined with heavy dread. “Did – did I hurt you?” she asked tentatively, the words catching in her throat.

“No,” Morgana said quickly, moving to the near side of the bath and clutching at the steel rim with cold fingers. The side of the bath afforded her more modesty and she began to relax, if only a little.

“Then what?”

Looking embarrassed, Morgana said, “It is okay. I understand.”

“Understand what?” This time, when Morgause reached out to cover Morgana’s clammy hands, she didn’t withdraw.

“That things are different now that we have been together,” Morgana murmured, looking down into the water.

“Nothing’s changed,” Morgause promised, though things had changed. She had warned Morgana that she couldn’t go back if they spent the night together. She couldn’t – wouldn’t forget it.

For a second Morgana seemed to doubt her view of the situation and looked up at Morgause with something akin to hope on her cold flushed face.

I would give anything and everything to prove that to you.”

Leaning out of the bath, Morgana kissed her tentative understanding briefly onto Morgause’s lips. The motion caused her hair to tumble out and splash cool water on Morgause’s skin, dripping down so slow and delightfully that Morgana’s eyes couldn’t resist following them until they slipped out of sight. She blushed again.

“You are my Queen. You have my loyalty, my life and my heart, always,” Morgause promised, raising Morgana’s chin with her hand. “I have made an oath, dedicated my life to protecting yours. I promise that I will never leave your side, no matter what happens when we return to Camelot. Whatever you want from me, I will give it gladly and without hesitation, even if it is only to be your guard and champion.”

Morgana pressed herself as close to Morgause as she could and nodded. “I love you,” she whispered, though the very thought of it terrified her.

Morgause climbed into the freezing bath and took Morgana in her arms, shielding her from the cold. She closed her eyes and fought back tears. Champions did not cry in front of their Queens, no matter how tragically that Queen had been damaged. “I love you too.”  _Always have._

 

That day, it was unseasonably cold. By midday, rain pelted from the sky. Wet hair bit at both of their necks and wind ripped under the silk of Morgana’s dress. Nightmare felt bonier beneath her with each step, until Morgana was unbearably uncomfortable in her saddle. For the first time since their journey had begun, it became obvious to her just how incapable she was compared to Morgause. It didn’t take long before she started to fall behind.

“There is a cave up ahead that looks dry enough to stop in to eat,” Morgause shouted over the rain, trotting back from her reconnaissance trip. It was past lunch but Morgana looked even paler than usual and Morgause was beginning to worry about her health.

Morgana shook her head. “No, we’ve lost enough time as it is. We will push on.”

Nodding, Morgause fell back into step beside Morgana. She would not refuse an order, even if she disagreed with it. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she murmured, disgruntled, under her breath, too quiet for Morgana to hear. If her head hadn’t been bowed to shield her words from the Queen’s eyes, she would have seen the bandits coming through the trees.

By the time an outburst of noise brought her head up, there were five men circling them like a pack of wolves. The shining swords in their hands spoke of their previous successful conquests and the sneers on their faces of their willingness to do anything to secure their bounty. There were dogs at their feet, dirty hounds used for hunting who looked primed to bite at the legs of their horses. Dream span on the spot around Morgause’s leg, allowing the knight to take in each and every one their attackers. She mentally ranked them as dangerous, a threat or a pushover and used her mount to nudge Morgana towards the two most deserving of the last category. All of this, she had done before the leader found his tongue.

“Well, well. What  _do_  we have here?” The tallest of the men grinned, the half-helmet on his head slipping slightly as he tried to steady his horse. “A woman playing at being a knight and her whore?”

Morgana’s head snapped up in shock. She had never been called that before.

“Speak to her like that again and I’ll have your tongue,” Morgause threatened. “Then I’ll feed the rest of you to the dogs.”

“Sharp words for such a tender little thing,” another of the men laughed. “I bet you have a dirty mouth in bed, don’t you blondie? What do you say lads, shall we find out?”

Laughter rippled around the circle, making Morgana shiver.

“And what about you?” a scrawny man – really more of a boy – smirked, bumping his horse into Nightmare. “I bet you like a bit of rough, don’t you?” He made a vulgar gesture and Morgana looked away.

“In the name of Camelot,” Morgause began, “her King and all of her knights, I charge you to step down or face the Crown’s justice. Thieves who prey on travellers pay with their hands. But for this, you would pay with your lives.”

The men were vicious, desperate even, but she had trained for this since childhood. She had come second in the tournament and was the Queen’s guard. If it came down to it, she could take them all. With Morgana so close, though, she was distracted.

“You’re not a knight of Camelot,” the first man sniggered. “You’re just a girl.”

Morgause lifted her shrugged off her heavy travelling cloak to reveal Camelot’s gold crest below, marking her as one of the King’s own knights. The work on the breastplate was ornate and obviously paid for from the Crown’s pocket. It fit her like a glove too and could never have belonged to someone else.

He was going to charge, that would give them the advantage. She couldn’t let him do that. Instead, she dug in her heels and shot forward, her sword making an elegant arc in the air as she swung it down upon him.

Morgana closed her eyes as Morgause’s sword sliced through the bandit as easily as if he were made of butter. The soft wet thud that the body made a as it fell to the ground turned her stomach and she had to hold her breath to keep the nausea at bay. After that, noise exploded around her -shouts, whinnying, the sting of steel on steel. Every sound made her heart beat faster. After what seemed like hours, she heard Morgause’s voice through the chaos.

“Morgana, remember what I told you!” she shouted.

What had Morgause told her? She had told her so many things since they had left Camelot. She had told her that she was beautiful and that the King wasn’t worthy of her. She had told her that she could trust her and that she would never hurt her. She had told her a million sweet and earnest things. But what had she told her about this?

 _Run_.

The word came clear into her mind, as if Morgause were whispering it into her ear.

 _Run and don’t look back_.  _Hide yourself._   _I will find you._

She gave her knight a panicked look. How could she leave her here with these men? God only knew what would happen to her.

“Morgana, do it!”

Nightmare jerked beneath her, breaking into a gallop that near unseated the Queen. Her mare knew what to do, even if she herself was too scared to move.

“Not so fast, pretty.” Hooves thundered after her.

She looked over her shoulder at her pursuer just in time to see him fall from his horse, a dagger – the gilded dagger that Morgause had won in the tournament – sticking in his back. Relief washed over, then another bout of nausea. She kicked her horse on faster and didn’t look back.

 

 

It was hours before Morgause found her, deep in the forest of Balor. She had lit no fire and made no camp, only stood by her Nightmare and waited for her knight to return, as she knew that she would. When she heard the sound of twin hoof beats, she hushed her horse with a hand to her velvet nose and shrunk further into the darkness. If the bandits had found her, she wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Morgana!” The whisper was fierce. “Morgana, it’s me.”

Morgana peaked over Nightmare’s neck. The men knew her name, they had heard Morgause speak it. It could be a trick.

As the horses came into sight, she saw that only one of them had a rider. It was too dark to see more than that. They came to a stop and the rider swung from the saddle. For a second, long hair caught a ray of moonlight and glittered gold.

“Morgause!” she leapt from behind Nightmare and flung her arms around her victorious champion’s neck. “I knew you would come.”

Morgause pulled back from the hug, she was holding her side. “Of course I came.” She smiled but it did not reach her eyes. All that shone there was pain.

“You are hurt.” Morgana’s hands went to the place Morgause was holding and came away red. “Oh God,” she whispered, looking back up to Morgause, cold fear running over her skin. “You are bleeding.”

“I’ll be fine,” Morgause dismissed, kissing the worried frown from Morgana’s face and clasping her bloodstained hands. “You will have to dress it for me though. Can you do that?”

Nodding, Morgana ran to the packhorse and retrieved from the saddlebag the roll that held the medical supplies that Gwen had gotten from the court physician, Gaius. The instruction that she had begged him to give her as a child came back to her and she flowed into motion, dropping the roll on the ground, lighting a fire and fetching a waterskin.

“Take off your tunic, I’ll need to wash it,” she said, smelling the skin to make sure that the water hadn’t turned sour. She then helped Morgause remove her armour and tunic and poured the water over the slash. It wasn’t deep but Morgause winced and the muscles in her stomach jumped as pain shot from her wound up her spine.

“Fuck,” she swore, screwing shut her eyes and biting down hard enough on her lip to draw blood.

Morgana moved away to the fire and covered the bandage she had ripped from a shirt with a paste made of balsam.

“I apologise,” Morgause breathed when the pain ebbed, “for my language. That was not honourable or gallant.”

“I suspect that I would be unable to hold back a curse if our roles were reversed.” She lifted the bandage and held it up to Morgause’s wound, pressing it gently against her.

“I very much doubt that,” Morgause said with a sucked in breath at the pain. She swore again as Morgana tied the bandage tight around her waist. “Thank you.”

“Will you be alright?” Morgana asked, her eyes wide as she laid her hands on Morgause’s collarbone.

Morgause nodded and cupped her jaw. “I’ll be fine. Do not give it another thought.”

“My brave knight,” Morgana whispered and kissed her

 

Later, when the rain had put out their fire and they were lying huddled together in absolute darkness beneath their only fur blanket, Morgana asked her what had happened. At first, Morgause didn’t answer and silence dragged in the darkness.

“Tell me,” Morgana whispered. The sound of the rain was muffled by the thick blanket that kept them dry.

“We’re safe, that is all you need hear,” Morgause said vaguely.

“Tell me,” Morgana insisted, fiercer this time. “I want to know.”

“Three are dead. The two youngest ran, I let them go,” Morgause said. There was no way to make it sound sweeter. When light came the next morning, Morgana would see with her own eyes the blood that was spattered on her tunic and on Dream’s coat. There would be no hiding that blood had been spilt, and very little of it hers.

“I’m sorry you had to do that,” Morgana murmured.

“I’m not,” Morgause said resolutely. “That’s who I am. I do what needs be done to keep Camelot, and you, safe.”

“I am forever in you debt.”

“No,” Morgause disagreed. “This,” she found Morgana’s warm lips in the dark, “is reward enough. You can never imagine what I would do for just one kiss from you. I would fight the whole world to hold you in my arms.”

“I’m yours,” Morgana breathed, her body trembling. “You need not fight anyone.”

Again, Morgause disagreed. “You are no one’s but your own.” Morgana’s subservience when it came to such matters troubled her. The view of her worth that the King had fed her was so far removed from what she deserved. Maybe with time, she would understand that.

“No,” Morgana shook her head, “that’s not true. If you truly believe that I am not his, then I am my own and whomever’s I choose to give myself to, am I not?”

Reluctantly, Morgause agreed with a sigh. “Yes.”

“Then I am yours. Behind closed doors. In the shadows.” She chuckled. “ _Under fur blankets_. In my heart. I am yours, my beautiful knight, I am yours.” She took Morgause’s hands and wrapped them around her waist, then rested her own hands on the curve of Morgause’s hips. “Whoever sits judgement over the world, be it the one God or the old Gods, they know that I belong with you, not him. And when we are both gone from this world, they will see that you and I are together.” She leant her forehead against Morgause’s. “So please, say that I am yours.”

“You are mine,” Morgause said somewhat hesitantly. “And if you are mine, then I am yours.”

“It’s a deal,” Morgana said, running her hands up and under Morgause’s shirt, her eyes fluttering closed at the softness of the skin there. Being with Morgause was nothing like being with Uther. He was all harsh angles and hard muscles with an ale belly. Morgause was soft and supple. Where Uther had angles, she had curves. Her flesh yielded to the touch and her muscles jumped under Morgana’s fingertips. Every hollow begged to be discovered and every moan urged Morgana deeper. “And tomorrow we will sleep in an inn before we start our climb over the grey mountains and will seal our deal in bed,” she went to search for Morgause’s lips but found them already upon hers, “my paramour.”


	8. Chapter 8

By the time the sun crested over the peaks of the Narrow Mountains, the two women and three horses were half way along rocky trail that lead over the side of the easternmost mountain. The ground was hard and uneven, with some sections too perilous to ride. On such sections, they dismounted and walked, but the stones were as sharp under their feet as they were under the horse’s hooves. Even though the road only climbed half the height of the eastern mountain, they were sufficiently high that the air was thin enough to sap their energy, making their progress slow and each step harder fought for than the last. By lunchtime, they had to stop.

“Why is it so hard to breathe?”

Morgana chuckled and dropped a blanket around Morgause’s shoulders. It was cold and they could see snow on the lofty peaks. “You were bred in lowlands. There’s even a tale about how low. I believe there is also a bard’s song.”

Morgause’s brow was creased as she tipped her head to gulp hot wine from her rough-hewn cup. “I don’t understand what that has to do with breathing.”

“The air is different up here. For people from families who have lived generations on flat land, it takes extra effort to breathe. Whereas, those of us who come from houses founded on high ground find it as easy as walking along the shore. Though I must admit, I am not quite as adept as some are,” Morgana explained, pleased to be the one with superior knowledge of the world for once. As sheltered as her life at the castle had been, there was a time before that when she had followed her father from holdfast to holdfast, listening to everything and remembering most.

“And where do you get this... gift of yours from?” Morgause asked, offering the cup to Morgana. They had lost their other cup somewhere between Carnna and the foot of the mountains, probably running from the bandits.

“My mother was born a Fearainn. They’re true mountain folk,” Morgana continued. “It is from her I get my fair skin, black hair and this ‘gift’, as you put it. Le Fay’s are a seafaring family originally from Gaul. Thanks to them, I have a diminished ability to breathe mountain air. Oh and stubbornness, I got stubbornness from them.”

Morgause regretted laughing the second she started. The wound she had sustained in the skirmish a few days earlier was still fresh and more than partially contributing to their slow progress.

“You’re so exotic,” she managed after a brief coughing fit. Pride stopped her giving in to the urge to clutch her stomach. “I was born in Camelot to parents born in Camelot. This is the farthest I have ever been from the city walls.”

“I would never have guessed,” Morgana smiled sweetly. She sat on the flat stone opposite her knight, sipping the wine for its warmth. “You are far better at all of this than I am.”

“You are a Lady,” Morgause said kindly, inclining her head.

Morgana caught her laugh by biting her lip. “So are you.”

“No,” Morgause shook her head. “I’m a woman. You are a Lady. There is a difference.”

Morgana thought on that for a minute, before nodding and passing back the cup. “If I wanted to learn how to wield a sword, would you instruct me?”

Swallowing the last of the wine, Morgause dropped the cup in the bowl of water boiling above the fire. “Do you want to learn?”

Morgana nodded. “Teach me.”

Above them, a crow cried and a cloud blocked out the sun.

Morgause smiled. “Get to your feet.”

The next two hours, they spent pressed together from their hips to their shoulders and down the lengths of their arms. They worked as one, their hands clasped together around the hilt of the sword, bringing it through the air in arcs that caught the sun and, for a moment, blinded them. At first Morgana was clumsy, not able to lift the weight of the sword alone, but by the time an hour had passed, she had learnt to rely on Morgause for strength and was able to guide their hands to move the blade as she was instructed. There was beauty in it, she found, and an art too.

The first fight she had watched Morgause enter in the tournament had been the first time that Morgana had actually watched a swordfight. At first it had interested her, the way that Morgause’s swings were just that bit more like a dance than those of the other knights, but it was when she took of her helmet and her golden hair flew with every move that Morgana became completely and utterly transfixed.

“I fight for you, my Queen, as your champion. Every victory I claim is in your name,” Morgause had promised in front of the crowds before the first match. The tournament stadium had erupted into cheers and Morgana had felt a rush of pride. The people loved her and because of that, they loved Morgause too.

As she watched her champion fight, Morgana had wanted nothing more than to be taken in Morgause’s arms and kissed as if the world was ending. And even though Morgause might not have won the tournament, that day she won Morgana and nothing could be done to stop their lives from rushing together like rivers to a confluence. She had gone to her bed that night dreaming of her knight, Morgause’s slightly callused hands running over her shoulders and down her arms, her bold tongue pushing past her lips. It had gotten her so flushed that she had woken Gwen from her pallet and begged her to fill a cool bath on the lie that she had woken hot from a bad dream and needed to cool down before she could catch sleep again. Gwen knew better than to question her.

“The strength in your arms will grow,” Morgause whispered, kissing the base of the Queen’s neck. Her lips came away slightly salty and she darted out her tongue to savour the taste. “Practice every day and by the time we head north you will be able to swing my blade against another.”

“Maybe we shan’t ever head north again,” Morgana whispered, dropping the sword at their feet.

Morgause was gracious enough to pretend not to have heard her.

“We must press on, Love, if we want to make the stream on the map by nightfall,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around Morgana’s waist.

Morgana leaned back into her and sighed her resignation.

 

 

When they reached their planned campsite, it was still light, so they made camp quickly enough that they would be able to swim before dusk fell. The stream that the map had indicated had swollen into a river in the warm season, bolstered by the melt water from the snow above and so was ice cold. Neither of them was brave enough to enter the water nude. Morgause dived in wearing her shirt and breaches without a second thought, whilst Morgana stood on the bank and refused to ruin her dress, even if it was only a travelling gown. So Morgause emerged from the stream, water dripping in torrents from her clothes and hair, stripped Morgana down to her underdress and tugged her into the water with a mischievous smile. When Morgana gasped in shock at how cold it was, Morgause kissed her to silence her and suddenly the water didn’t feel that cold to Morgana after all.

For an hour they played like children, splashing and tugging each other under the water. They had competitions to see who could swim the furthest underwater without having to come up to breathe and who could skim a stone the furthest. After that, they took turns diving for Morgana’s gold Pendragon broach. The water was as clear as air and they could easily see it sparkling amongst the sandstone pebbles that lined the streambed. Once, Morgana swore that she couldn’t find it and declared that it must have been carried downstream, but Morgause saw it as soon as she dipped below the water and Morgana had to admit that she wanted to lose it. Morgause retrieved it anyway but instead of giving it back to Morgana, she hauled herself out onto the far bank and threw it down the side of the mountain, shouting ‘good riddance’ and diving back into the water to be greeted by enthusiastic kisses.

When Morgana began to feel the cold again, she retreated to the fire and Morgause caught a fish with her bare hands, which they roasted and ate. Morgana begged to be taught how to do that too but Morgause just laughed and said that there was no way that Morgana would be able to stay still long enough and Morgana had to reluctantly agree.

“It’s beautiful,” Morgause whispered later, gazing longingly at the two towers that marked their destination. They were at the highest point that they would reach on the mountain and could see flat grassland stretching out below them to Mermering and, just beyond that, the sea. “I’ve never seen the ocean before.”

Morgana came up behind her and wrapped the blanket that she was wearing around Morgause too.

“It looks as if it never ends,” she continued. “I’ve never seen anything so... vast before.”

“I’ll take you swimming in it,” Morgana promised, resting her chin on Morgause’s shoulder and imagining tasting sea salt on Morgause’s lips. “And out in a boat too if you want.”

“I’d like that,” Morgause smiled.

“There’s an island a league out, do you see it?” Morgana took Morgause’s hand out of the blanket and pointed to the isle with it. When Morgause nodded, she continued. “I’ll take you there and we can have an entire island to ourselves for the day. There are some caves and, supposedly, flies that glow like dragon’s fire.”

“I’ll catch one for you and you can wear it around your neck in a little glass bottle like a pendent. You’ll be the envy of the entire kingdom,” Morgause said with a smile, every gallant.

“And there’s a warm spring,” Morgana whispered hotly in her knight’s ear, “that we most definitely need to take advantage of.”

Morgause smirked. “And how exactly would we do that?”

“Come to bed and I’ll show you.”

Morgause did just that.

 

 

They made their descent down the mountain in the early morning light, both filled with excitement and anticipation, Morgana at seeing her aunt and Morgause at seeing the sea close up. Morgana was so overwhelmed with being so close to someplace she had once belonged – long before she had even laid eyes on Uther – that her stomach churned with sickness. Though she had never lived in Mermering, it felt strangely like coming home. By the time they reached the grasslands, the two towers of the port of Mermering towered above them, marvels in white stone.

“Gods, they’re magnificent,” Morgause breathed, blushing when Morgana raised her eyebrow at her slip of the tongue, using the Old Religion’s saying.

“I don’t mind, you know,” Morgana told her.

“Don’t mind what?”

“If you worship the old gods,” Morgana smiled. “Uther may hate them but I have no reason to. Even he isn’t powerful enough to outlaw worship of them.”

“No, but he outlawed practicing magic, which is in itself worship of the Old Religion,” Morgause said a little bitterly. “My father was so enamoured with him that he enforced that rule with an iron fist in our household, even though my mother was a soothsayer in the years before Queen Igraine died.”

Morgana’s mouth slackened. “I – I did not know.” If Morgause’s mother had used such serious magic, then it would be in the blood, in Morgause’s blood.

“It was before I was born. I’ve never practiced.” Morgause shot Morgana a worried look. “Does that... change things?”

“No,” Morgana said quickly. “No, of course not. I only – I just...” She took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t think badly of you, even if you did practice. I just want to know you better. You are such an enigma, Morgause. You are the only female knight I have ever heard of, never mind met. You treat me how fairytale knights treat fairytale princesses. You kissed me even though it could have meant losing your head if I hadn’t felt the same. You’ve committed treason by being with me. From the first day I met you, you treated me as a person, just as Morgana, but you make me feel more of queen than I ever have.” She pulled up her horse. “Who are you, Morgause? Why do you... why do you like me?”

For a long moment, Morgause was silent. “I’m a knight’s daughter, but you already knew that. My parents died within a hair’s breadth of time of each other. I fell in love too young and was hurt too badly. I love you because you are an absolute wonder, Morgana. You have more strength than an army and are wiser than any physician. Your people love you and you love them back. You are selfless and king beyond imagining.” She took a deep breath. “You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen and I’ve spent the last three years madly and hopelessly in love with you.”

“Th- three years?” Morgause stuttered. “We only met...”

“You are the Queen of Camelot and before that you were the King’s ward. Do you really think that I’d never seen you before that day we went to the Queen’s Valley?”

“I suppose not,” Morgana conceded. Nightmare was fidgeting under her and she had to shorten her reins to keep her under control.

“The first time I saw you, was on your seventeenth birthday. I squired at the tournament held in your honour. It was just after my heart had been broken and I was low. When I say you, you lit up my world and I knew that I had to become a knight to serve you. And I saw you on your wedding day when you and the King rode from the chapel to the castle. You wore white silk and a white lily in your hair. I think that everyone fell in love with you that day, but it was that first time, the day you turned seventeen, that I fell in love with you,” Morgause said sincerely. Dream was as still as the surface of a lake beneath her. “When I met you, it only made me fall harder. You are a storm barely contained in nature’s most perfect creation. I was hopeless to resist you. ”

A tear ran down Morgana’s cheek and she brushed it away quickly. “I wish I could have married you.”

Morgause bit her tongue before she could say, “Me too.”

Instead, she urged on her horse until she was close enough to take Morgana’s hand and press her lips to the alabaster knuckles. When she met Morgana’s damp, needy eyes, she said, “I am your champion and you are my Queen. That gives me a duty to you that goes above any marriage, even to a King. I am the sword in your hand and the armour that shelters you from harm. You are the force that drives me. I am yours to command. As your guard and champion, I made a vow before the King to follow you above all others and give my life for yours. In the laws that a knight lives by, we are one. Our lives are inexorably linked. To me at least, that is worth more than any marriage ever could be.”

Morgana was crying again but they were too close to Mermering for Morgause to risk kissing the tears from her cheeks, though there was nothing she wanted to do more.

“Then you serve me above Uther?” Morgana managed in a wavering voice.

“I do,” Morgause confirmed with a solemn nod.

“And if I commanded you to kill him...”

“I would, without question,” Morgause confirmed. “But you won’t.” She could see that she had the truth of it by the sadness in Morgana’s eyes. There was nothing more to say.

 

 

It was barely any time at all after that that they reached the gates of Mermering – large structures of the same white stone as the towers, carved with intricate detail. They were more ceremonial than functional in a military sense. Morgause could instantly see a dozen ways into the port town that bypassed them completely, due mostly to the lack of proper town walls. There was, of course, some rudimentary wall spanning from the gates, but it was waist height and appeared to be decorated with thousands of seashells. On horseback, any invading army could jump right over it and that wasn’t even the largest flaw in Mermering’s defences. That honour fell to the sea. On two sides, the town was bordered by the ocean; one side by beach, the other by a dock.

“Not a military town, is it?” Morgause asked with some amusement as they reined up in front of the gates.

“No,” Morgana said with a smile. “But it does boast some quite excellent architecture.”

“Sounds thrilling,” Morgause murmured sarcastically.

They were both laughing at that when the heavy gates were hauled open, revealing three uniformed men on horseback. The largest man wore a huge seashell crest on his tunic, picked out in gold thread on a black background. Both of his flanking men wore smaller, plainer versions of the crest and sat atop their horses with their heads respectfully bowed.

“Your Highness.” The man sporting the largest crest inclined his head. “On behalf of our humble town, we welcome you to the port of Mermering and pledge our swords to your protection.” He lifted his head, formality finished. “Your aunt, the Lady Eloise Le Fay, is waiting for you in the Tower of the Light. I am to escort you to your chambers. My men will see to your horses and luggage.” He flicked his gaze back to Morgause, who had dropped a back a respectful few feet. “We can accommodate your guard in the servant’s quarters.”

“She stays with me,” Morgana said firmly, her voice unmistakably that of a queen and, therefore, not one to be defied. “I expect there is a maid’s pallet in my chambers?”

Large Crest nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“That’s settled then. Have one of your men inform my aunt that I wish to freshen up from my journey before meeting with her.”

“Yes, Your Highness. Right away, Your Highness.”

Morgana bit the inside of her mouth to suppress a smile. Sometimes, she really did love being Queen.

 

 

The chambers intended for Morgana were smaller than the ones she enjoyed back in Camelot, but that was only to be expected. The two towers and connecting feasting hall that made up the White Keep were several hundred times smaller than the expansive corridors, halls and dungeons of Camelot’s own castle. Though, it was, none the less, very pretty. They were to stay in the Tower of the Sea, the twin to the Tower of the Light that her aunt resided in. Inside, as outside, the walls were brilliant white and near circular in shape. One large bright room was the extent of the chambers, made up of a large bed hung with white silk that stood against the far wall, a balcony that overlooked the sea at lay just beyond the pale oak dining table to the left of the room, and a brilliantly carved white wardrobe and matching dressing table that lay to the right. There was also a large circular bath cut out of stone in the centre of the room, deep as a Morgana was tall, and between it and the bed was a luxurious couch – all white. The only thing in the room that was not white and rich was a small brown pallet by the side of the door. Morgause eyed it in disapproval.

“You don’t think that you will actually be sleeping there, do you?” Morgana asked with a laugh when they were alone. She pulled Morgause into her and kissed her deeply, the words she had spoken that morning drifting like a song through Morgana’s mind.

Morgause looked at the silk laden bed uneasily. She had seen such finery in the castle at Camelot, but she had never been permitted to touch it. There was an invisible barrier that separated knights, servants and the common folk from the riches of the noble class, even if said knight was noble, which Morgause was not, not really.

“Where are you better placed to protect your Queen than beside her as she sleeps?” Morgana whispered against her cheek. Within the walls of Mermering she felt powerful. She belonged there, in the home of her ancestors.

Morgause, who didn’t have an answer for that, bowed her head in agreement. “As you say.”

“Good. I want to bathe before we meet my aunt,” Morgana said, wandering over to the dressing table and taking off her riding boots.

“I will call for a maid.” Morgause turned to leave.

“That won’t be necessary,” Morgana called. “Take off your breeches and get into the bath.”

Though she did not see where this was going, Morgause would not defy her Queen and was more than happy to indulge her Morgana. She took off her boots and laid them by the door, undid the laces of her breeches and deposited them atop her boots. As she made her way over to the bath and descended the stone steps, she could feel Morgana’s eyes watching her keenly. Once inside, she could see that there was a ledge that ran around the edge of the bath on which you could sit and she could feel warmth permeating the stone from below. The feel of it below her bare feet was strange, like standing on a stone that had heated in the sun.

“Now, do you see the two golden stoppers in the floor?” Morgana continued, now standing beside the bath and looking down on Morgause like a giant.

Morgause nodded. “I see them.”

“The one in the shape of a shell is to keep water in,” Morgana explained, pointing to the stopper to the right of the bath. “And the one in the shape of a ship is to bring the water in.”

Morgause looked up at her confused and, for the second time in recent days, admitted that she did not understand.

“The White Keep is built atop a warm spring, like the one on the isle that I told you about. The Keep was built by the Romans to honour their god of the sea, Neptune. Below this room, every room is shaped like a cart wheel – round, with a spoke running through the middle. It is within this spoke that the spring’s water resides. We need only unscrew the stopper and clean warm water will bubble up to fill the bath. When we wish to empty it, the other stopper will be removed to drain it away.” She smiled. “Take the ship in your hand and twist it free.”

Clasping her hand around the gold plated ship, Morgause twisted and pulled the stopper free. Instantly, the bath began to fill, passing her ankles in seconds and then her knees.

“You’ll need to stop it when the flow has reached the gold,” Morgana instructed, crouching to point to the gold line three feet from the top of the bath. The water was already lapping around Morgause’s thighs. “I’d take off my shirt if I were you.” She giggled.

Morgause looked less amused as she pulled of her shirt and threw it up for Morgana to catch. She held the ship in her hand, ready to dive. “Tell me when.”

Still laughing silently, Morgana watched the water until it was a foot below the gold line. “Now, go!”

Morgause dived, disappearing below the water. For a few tense seconds, the surface water she left behind was too choppy to see through, despite its purity. Morgana held her breath and counted. She got to 38 before Morgause emerged empty handed and drenched. She was panting. “Enjoying the show?” she asked tersely, but Morgana’s dress dropped to pool at her feet and Morgause discovered that it was her who had the better view.

Before Morgause knew what was happening, Morgana was in the water and had her pinned against the smooth stone side. “Very much,” Morgana answered with an impish smile and took a kiss. For the first time, she took control as a Queen should and found that there was more pleasure to be found in sharing power then in submitting to it.


	9. Chapter 9

After so long in simpler, more accommodating travelling gowns, the feel of bone against her ribs made Morgana’s head spin. And though it forced her to breathe short and shallow, the feeling was not entirely unwelcome, for it was accompanied by the flutter of Morgause’s fingers against her back, dancing between the laces they pulled on. She had never felt the touch so intimate before. Gwen’s hands on her body were as familiar as her own. Morgause’s were something else entirely. They lit fire wherever they rested.

“Tighter,” the Queen bid, the palms of her hands flat against her taut stomach.

“Are you sure-”

“Tighter,” she repeated, not yet ready to give up the closeness which would have to be forsaken when they entered formal company, if only briefly. She had grown used to them being freely together. It had been such a short time but her heart had swelled more from that brief period than it had from her whole lifetime before it.

She felt it would grow so big as to break out of her chest and bloody her fine emerald silk gown, embroidered with vines and leaves picked out in golden thread. It was a beautiful dress. Down the front of the bodice ran two parallel lines of pearls which flared and parted over her hips, before joining to form a single line from the back of her thighs to the point of the gown’s small train that was itself shaped as a leaf. Pearls too formed the veins of the leaf, smaller than any she had seen elsewhere, stitched with great skill and care. The golden vines from her bodice encircled her arms, spiralling to trail down her long sleeves, from each of which an emerald hung. After tying off the pearly laces of her stay in an elegant bow, Morgause’s hands reached around her waist to lay a belt of interlocked gold rings loosely above her hips. She fastened it with an emerald broach and let hang the long progressively shrinking rings of the overhang to fall to Morgana’s knees, completing her gown.

“How do I look?” Morgana asked, meeting Morgause’s doe brown eyes through the mirror.

“Every bit the Queen,” Morgause complimented.

“Yet you are the one in Pendragon red.” Morgana turned and eyed with some discomfort the formal uniform of breeches and red tunic that Morgause wore. She looked beautiful but the scarlet screamed of Uther. Morgana hated seeing it on Morgause. “I should dress you in Le Fay green.”

“No one, not even your knight and guard should be so treasonous,” Morgause replied. A smile flickered at her lips but did not break out. “Though I will sleep in your colours if you wish.”

Morgana dropped her head and laughed, her pearl-studded black hair tumbling forward over her shoulders from the motion. When she looked up, her gold diadem catching the candlelight, Morgause was smiling truly.

“We must be going. Your aunt awaits,” Morgause advised, her right hand lying from habit on the hilt of her sword.

Morgana pouted slightly, playing at being petulant, but she made her way to the door all the same. As her fingers closed over the handle, she turned and brushed her lips over the fine hair of Morgause’s temple. She imagined she could see the imprint of her lips there, marking where she had kissed her.

“Never leave my side,” she ordered.

“Never, Your Majesty.”

With a turn of her wrist, the door opened to Morgana and brought her out to the gaggle of guards who were her escort to the Tower of the Light.

Their walk took them through the feasting hall which would host a celebration the following night to hail the arrival of the Queen. A dozen servants lined their way, the men bowing and the women curtseying as she passed. Eloise Le Fay kept a modest but loyal household who had served the family over several generations. The oldest of the families in service – the Floriettes – had come from Gaul a century earlier with the Le Fays, and had members serving with the few remaining Lords and Ladies of their master’s house across two seas and four kingdoms. It was a young Floriette maid who met Morgana at the door to the tower and escorted her to the reception room Eloise awaited her in. When they reached the doorway to the room, she curtseyed low and Morgana reached out to tilt up her chin and smiled at her.

“Thank you -” Morgana paused for the serving girl’s name.

“Emilie, Your Majesty,” the girl said, her eyes wide with fear and love as she held her Queen’s gaze.

“Thank you, Emilie. Be here to walk us back when we are done and you will be rewarded,” Morgana promised, her eyes twinkling. Taking back her hand, she opened the door and glided inside, leaving the girl bewildered.

Eloise Le Fay stood in front of the fire, taking in its light and glowing from it. Though she had been sickly since childhood, Morgana had never seen her so wan. Her once full cheeks were sunken and her blue eyes were grey as her hair. Her illnesses had taken their toll, but they could not destroy her spirit and that was stunning.

“My beautiful niece,” Eloise greeted, meeting Morgana in the middle of the room to hug her close. When they parted, she curtseyed and kissed Morgana’s snow white hand. “My Queen.”

“You will not bend your knee to me,” Morgana said in a clear loud tone for all the guards and servants to hear. “I am but a gracious guest in your home,” she continued, falling to one knee and bowing her head.

Morgause had to fight not to smile. Every man, woman and child in Mermering would be in love with Morgana before the night was out. She doubted any had seen a Queen before, never mind one who bowed to anyone but her King. Morgana saw art in serving the people and excelled at it.

“Nonsense, child. You are my blood. This is your home as much as it is mine,” Eloise said with all of the grace of her niece. Morgana rose to her feet. “Though I see you are no child. I was most aggrieved to miss your wedding and your crowning. I mush apologise profusely.”

“Do not think on it. I looked a ghost in white and, besides, it gave me the excuse to visit you here. It is even more beautiful than I remember. Though, I must say, it seems to have shrunk.” Morgana said, leaning and whispering conspiratorially.

“It is you who has grown,” Eloise countered with a smile. She looked from Morgana to her servants and guards. “Leave us.”

When the doors closed behind them, Eloise looked past Morgana to Morgause. “So the rumours are true. The kingdom is alight with talk that you have taken a female knight as your champion.” The formality of their greeting was done and she moved with Morgana to take a seat at the small dining table laid with fruit and wine. “You are most definitely your father’s daughter. He never was one for tradition or propriety.”

Morgana laughed. “So I am often told.”

Eloise once again looked to Morgause, who stood protectively behind Morgana’s chair. “And what is your name, knight? I cannot call you Sir.”

“Morgause Wilde, my lady,” Morgause answered, nodding her head in a bow.

“Then sit, Morgause. You are the only sworn knight in Mermering and so deserve a place at my table. And you have pledged to protect my niece?”

“I have, my lady, with my life,” Morgause answered solemnly.

“That makes you doubly welcome,” Eloise insisted. “Sit.”

There was something in the way Eloise looked from Morgana to Morgause that made the Queen blush, but she indicated for Morgause to sit at her right side instead of a respectful distance down the table and met Eloise’s shrewd smile with one of her own.

“You must tell me, Morgana, did you have a pleasant journey?” Eloise asked, taking the flagon of wine from the centre of the table and offering it first to fill Morgana’s goblet, then her own, before passing it to Morgause to pour for herself.

“Pleasant enough,” Morgana smiled. Memories of their journey flashed through her mind: the first salty touch of Morgause’s lips to hers; the honeyed kiss she had sought the next morning; the black ink of the Wilde’s debt; Morgause’s hand sliding down her stomach and her head shooting back against her knight’s shoulder when her fingertips reached their destination; cold water on her skin and a hot tongue in her mouth; crying out into the mountain air. Other memories came too, less pleasant ones. “Though, we were met with bandits on the road from Carnna.”

Eloise’s hand reached across the table to clasp Morgana’s. “Were you harmed, my child?”

“Not me, but Morgause was wounded.”

“Should I send for my physician?” There was genuine concern in Eloise’s eyes when she looked at Morgause.

“No, my lady. I was well attended to,” Morgause assured, taken aback. “It was no more than a scratch and the Queen was most kind to dress it for me.”

Morgana snorted. “That was more than a scratch and you got it defending me, kindness is nothing. I ought to have done more but it was beyond me.” She turned to her aunt. “Will you send the physician tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Eloise nodded.

“Morgana, I don’t need-” Morgause bit her tongue but it was too late. “I apologise, Your Highness. I will, of course, do as you bid.”

Eloise raised a silver eyebrow. “Do not put on formalities for my sake, dears. It is good for a Queen to have people around her whom she can trust in and rely upon for companionship. I can only imagine how lonely it must be.”

Morgana dropped her head “I am very grateful for the life I lead. I am most fortunate.”

“Being the Lady of this small keep is lonely enough, child. You need not pretend to me that being Queen is what you dreamed it would be.”

“You have the truth of it,” Morgana conceded. Though, she did not say that she never dreamed of being Queen, had never wanted it. “But I have a wonderful maid who has attended me since we were both still children, I have Morgause and I have the people. They are boundless in their affection for me, it would seem.” She smiled. “I truly am lucky.”

“And what of Uther? Is he a kind husband?”

Morgana avoided her aunt’s gaze. “My Lord husband is a great man indeed.”

“With the greatest respect to our ‘great’ king, that isn’t what I asked,” Eloise said determinedly. “I want to know if he is a good husband to my niece.”

“Yes,” Morgana lied. Morgause squeezed her arm beneath the table. “Yes, he is. He is kind and patient.”

The older woman seemed to have seen through the lie but she did not challenge it again. Instead, she changed her tactics. “So I can expect a little great niece or nephew soon?”

“God willing,” Morgana answered honestly. A child would bring her joy and a reprieve both. A son would lift the weight of the kingdom off her shoulders. As she said it though, Morgause withdrew her fingers, leaving a cold space behind that Morgana quickly covered with her own hand.

 

 

 

When Emilie led them back to Morgana’s room in the Tower of the Sea, Morgana pressed a gold coin into the girl’s palm and bid her to bring them breakfast late in the morning. Emilie smiled brightly and curtseyed even lower than before, promising to bring the finest food Mermering had to offer.

“What is your interest in the girl?” Morgause asked curiously when they were alone again. She immediately shrugged off her cape and abandoned her boots.

“I had her cousin as a playmate when I was a child. I think I might take her back to Camelot to lighten Gwen’s duties,” Morgana explained, bringing the goblet of wine from the small table by the balcony to her lips and tasting the sharp deep flavour of red grapes. “For the time being, she could fetch water for Gwen and such like. I refused a second maid at first but it would be good to have a Floriette in my service, especially when I have a child. I must get her to agree within the week, though, if I want to send her ahead.”

“The girl would agree now.” Morgause smiled, glossing over the second mention of children that night. “Like everyone else you meet, she would do anything for you.”

Morgana made a vague noise in her throat and put down the goblet. She walked to her dressing table, sat on the ornately carved chair and began to take the pearls from her hair. For Morgana, undressing wasn’t job for one, so Morgause stepped up behind her and went to work unpinning her diadem.

“Morgana, why did your aunt never marry?” she asked as she freed the golden ornament.

 “I don’t know. I never thought about it. My father was the head of the family. It was his duty to find her a match.” Morgana reached to remove her earrings. “Why do you ask?”

“It is strange for a woman to be unmarried, that is all,” Morgause said. She busied herself with the pearls Morgana had not been able to reach.

“You are not married,” Morgana reminded her, undoing her belt and slipping it from around her waist before dropping it with a clink on the dresser.

“I am married to my duty and my duty is to you,” Morgause responded. She brushed her fingers against Morgana’s neck as she withdrew the last of the pearls. The touch sent shivers down Morgana’s spine. “Stand so I can unlace you.”

Morgana stood as quickly as if it were an order to be followed. It did strike her odd, now she came to think about it, that she had never once heard her father propose a match for her aunt. They were a very wealthy family and Eloise would come with the keep at Mermering and a substantial dowry. Suitors must have been coming from miles around to get the chance of gaining such a prize, yet Morgana had not seen one. It occurred to her that her aunt’s illnesses might had dissuaded some and perhaps made her father wary of handing over Le Fay land to a prospective husband if Eloise did live to leave an heir. This, though, did not explain the complete lack of any conversation surrounding the idea of a marriage. Morgana might have been young, but she listened and remembered. There must have been another reason.

 

 

A lively sea wind rippled through the fallen strands of Morgana’s plaited hair, howling in time with the crash of miniature waves against the small rowing boat she captained. They were more than halfway from the modest harbour of Mermering to their docking on the island and were making swift progress with the current on their side. Morgause had never rowed a boat before, but she had the strength to pull the wooden oars through the heavy water and soon found a rhythm that propelled them with enough speed that a wave crested at the boats bow.

“We’re nearly there,” Morgana called back to her oarswoman from the front of the boat. She stood with one foot on the plane of wood that served as a seat for the navigator, fulfilling the role the best she could. It had been years since she had been out in a boat and even longer since she had tasted the salty spray of the sea. There was something in her that relished it; a part of her that knew how to keep the boat balanced when it bobbed over a large fast moving wave and how to read the currents for the best route to her destination. She supposed it was in her blood. Perhaps, it was the same part of her that made her feel so at home in Mermering. “Turn a little to the left. See that cluster of trees by the rocks? That is where the current will take us. Aim for it.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Morgause said with a smirk.

Morgana laughed and turned back to face ahead of them. There was something about sea air that made her feel truly alive.

Though Morgause was doing all the work, her position in the boat relative to Morgana gave her a wonderful view of the breeches clad Queen. It was the first time she had seen her in breeches and a shirt since the day they met and she was having a hard time concentrating on the rowing with Morgana turned away from her, bent over to steady herself on the sides of the boat. Reluctantly, Morgause tore her attention away from Morgana’s tight breeches and focused on their quickly approaching mooring site. It wouldn’t do well for her to hit a rock and jerk the Queen from the boat.

Before the bottom of the boat could find sand, Morgana used the foot she rested on the navigator’s seat to propel her from the boat, rope in hand. She landed in the shallow surf with a splash that sent salty water back to Morgause’s shock parted lips as she ran for the rocks. Fashioning a loop in the rope, she moored the boat, hooking it over a wooden post driven into the grey stone and pulling on the short end to tighten it. Pleased with her work, she turned back to the sea, her hands on her hips and satisfied smile on her lips. She felt every inch a Le Fay.

“Impressed?” she shouted.

“Most impressed,” Morgause agreed, dropping the oars from her aching arms into the boat. She followed Morgana’s lead to the shore, wetting her breeches up to her knees. “Though, I can’t say I care much for salt water. I cannot even begin to imagine what it would do to my blade.”

“Nothing if you had left it at the tower.” Morgana had tried and failed to convince Morgause to leave her sword behind. She argued that the island was deserted of people and that no one would recognise her out of her fine gowns. Morgause argued that the bandits they had met on their journey to Mermering had not known Morgana’s identity and had attacked them still. “You’ll notice we weren’t ambushed by pirates on the way.”

“Not yet anyway,” Morgause said, pushing playfully past Morgana and staring up the beach for the tree line.

 

 

 

It took all morning to reach the hot spring Morgana had recalled on the mountain. There were no paths through the forest and the undergrowth was thick with heather that scratched and scraped the leather of their boots. They saw wild rabbits and the deer along the way that the Le Fays had introduced to the island for hunting a generation before. Morgause’s hands itched for her bow to take down the young buck that dashed across in front of them, but it was back at the keep, so she contented her hands with stripping bark from a fallen branch and whittling it into a rudimentary arrow or miniature spear with the dagger she sheathed at her ankle. Morgana was too busy squinting at her surroundings and recalling memories a decade old of the island in her quest to find the spring to be good company. She insisted regularly that they were going the right way but Morgause had a keener eye and saw that they passed the same old oak thrice before Morgana took a different course and eventually led them to the hot pool.

The sight that greeted them when they broke out of the trees was worth every step they took to get there. Brown earth gave way to stone under their feet that dipped down to form a clear pool, carved from the stone by the flow of water, which bubbled gently from below. Steam drifted up from the pool’s surface to mingle with the leaves and dappled sunlight of the canopy above, giving the place an ethereal feel that soaked into Morgause’s skin and made her shiver, like she was seeing a secret.

“Gods, this place is...” Morgause shook her head in disbelief. She had seen more wonders in the last week than she had ever imagined laying her eyes on in a lifetime. The hot spring was more beautiful than them all – she turned to Morgana, who looked as full of wonder as Morgause felt – except maybe for one thing.

“Beautiful,” Morgana finished for her, so transfixed by the slow bubbling that she did not see the adoring way Morgause looked at her.

“Beautiful,” Morgause agreed, her gaze not on the scenery. She watched as a smile crept onto Morgana’s face. As beautiful as the Queen was in the finery of court, she was at her most beautiful at that moment. More of her raven black hair had pulled free from her plait and was clinging to her sweat damp neck and flushed cheeks. Her shirt was tucked into her tight high waisted breeches that hugged her figure to just below her breasts, framing every curve. Where she had been biting her lips in concentration as they trekked, they were plump and red, slightly parted from her laboured breathing, captivating. Her eyes panned over the wet rocks, green as new spring grass and bright as the sun. Everything about her made it difficult for Morgause to breathe.

“And its begging to be swam in,” Morgana grinned, pulling at the laces of her breeches and kicking off her boots. “I for one intend to take full advantage of that.”

Morgause’s heart sped and she forced herself to look away, ashamed of the lust in her eyes. “I will gather some dry twigs for a fire to cook lunch. Everything here is too wet to set aflame. I won’t be long.”

Morgana frowned at Morgause’s retreating form, her heat sinking. She wondered what she had done wrong.

 

 

 

The water was just as warm as the steam promised, heavenly cleansing after sweaty clothes, the bubbles tickling your skin like feathers. The bottom of the pool was lost to inky blackness and no matter how far down Morgana dived, she could not reach the stone floor. While she waited for Morgause to return and finish lighting the fire, Morgana tread water in the middle of the pool, submerged up to the curve between her lips and nose, watching Morgause work with worried eyes. It was hard to enjoy the beauty of the place with a thousand troublesome thoughts rushing through your head, each new worry tugging a heard more behind it. She worried about what would happen between her and Morgause when they returned to Camelot; about Morgause’s hand retreating from her arm at the mention of her bearing a child; Morgause’s reluctance to join her in the pool; her aunt’s sickness; and the churning of her stomach over all of it as they ate breakfast each morning.

Once Morgause was done, she rolled up her breeches to her knees and sat on the edge of the pool, dangling her legs in the water. She watched Morgana with a carefully neutral expression, keeping her eyes firmly above the warm water.

Taking a deep breath in through her nose, Morgana slipped from view below the water and swam unseen. When she surfaced, she was in front of Morgause’s slightly parted legs. She silently rolled the breeches of one leg up past her knee. There was scar there gained in training. Morgana closed her eyes and kissed it gently.

“Have I displeased you?” she asked tentatively against Morgause’s damp skin.

They had slept side by side the night before, but had not lain together. It was the first time, bar the day Morgause was injured, that they had not tasted each other come nightfall. Before, Morgana had not truly understood Uther’s need to have her, especially not the way he seemed to become obsessed with it and unable to wait until they were in his bedchambers or even the castle. She had stopped accompanying him on hunts for that very reason. The woods, barely away from their guard’s eyes, were no place for Uther to sate his desires on her. His disregard for her honour was still pained her, but she did at least now understand a little of his need. Uther owned her. He had a right to take her whenever and however he pleased. That was the law. Morgause was bound by no such ties to Morgana and even if she were, Morgana would not act upon it, no matter how much she ached for her. Or how empty she felt.

“No,” Morgause breathed. “You have not displeased me.”

Pushing Morgause’s legs apart, Morgana glided between them, pushed up her shirt and kissed her newest scar, still red and barely knitted together. She remembered the fear that had near paralysed her and the bravery with which Morgause had fought for her. She owed Morgause her life twice over. The Wilde’s may have an unpayable debt but she too feared that she would never be able to repay Morgause for what she had done.

“You could never displease me. You are my Queen. I love you,” Morgause whispered, her eyes fluttering closed from the gentleness of Morgana’s kiss. When she opened her eyes, she slid into the water, fully clothed, and cupped lonely Morgana’s face. “You are the sun, the moon and every star in my sky. How could I ever be anything but awestruck by you?”

Morgana shivered. “You will grow tired of me eventually.”

“Never,” Morgause promised.

“I need you,” Morgana pleaded, clutching Morgause’s shirt. "Do you need me?"

The permission she sought granted, Morgause slid her hands down from Morgana’s face to cup her firm round breasts. Morgana hissed in a breath and arched into her.

“Always, my love.”


	10. Chapter 10

Morgana lay on cool, hard stone, her eyes unfocused on the forest canopy, her heart pounding in her chest as she came down from her high. Warm wet lips worshiped her riding-toned stomach, drifting over her flushed skin in a silent prayer. She felt like a goddess from one of the great and fallen Mediterranean civilisations, spread out on the forest floor beside a bubbling spring, her wet hair fanned about her head like a dark halo and her body unashamedly bare. Dapples of sunlight dropped down to meet her through gaps between leaves, dancing over her in a warm embrace and filling the air with a dreamlike glow. Soft sounds from Mother Nature greeted her ears, the calming sound of distant waves, the sweet melody of a pair of nightingales singing to one another, the smooth gasping breeze rustling through the trees and the fast coming sound of her own breaths. If ever there was a moment she wished to be frozen in forever, then that was it.   
  
  
She thought of the forest that cradled them. It had stood unchanged for thousands of years, long before Camelot stood tall and even before the Wildes – like the golden knight tangled at her feet – had walked the land. It stood when the Romans invaded and before that, when iron and steel were yet be wielded by men and there were no kings nor emperors nor nobles. She fancied that God or the Gods, whomever really watched over them, had set it aside for them, to be their paradise and their heart, to live for them forever and keep their secret.   
  
  
The kisses on her stomach began to trail higher, skirting over her ribcage and caressing the curve of her breast. Her breath hitched in her throat as those lips were followed by the tickling of Morgause’s curls, running languidly in a curtain over her body, across her tensing stomach and sensitive breasts, sending shocks of sensation to her core. As the progress of Morgause’s lips met her jaw, she turned and captured them, tasting the salty tang on her tongue and moaning from soaring want. They had made love in the spring, Morgana’s legs wound around Morgause’s waist and her head buried in her neck as Morgause moved slowly, then faster inside her. She tread water after she had fallen sated from Morgause’s arms and took the wet clothes from her lover’s body, replacing the cloth with her hands, questing until her knight had shuddered helplessly in her arms and shed the tension from her muscles. Exhausted, they had climbed ashore, lying out to dry on the stone ground. Morgana’s eyes had been drifting shut when Morgause bent her head to taste her in a way that Morgana had never dreamed of, bringing her to peak twice before she relented, bringing her lips up to kiss Morgana’s stomach.   
  
  
“I love you,” Morgana murmured between slow kisses. Her heart fluttered from Morgause’s closeness, the press of her body against Morgana’s side, smooth and soft.   
  
  
“I love you, always,” Morgause said with certainty. “Never doubt that.”   
  
  
Shyness overtook Morgana, maker her blush down to her breasts, pink spreading like a drop of wine in a bowl of milk. She dropped her eyes and felt suddenly how naked she was. There were no bed sheets or furs to cover her now, she was utterly exposed.   
  
  
“Are you blushing?” Morgause asked with a smile. She followed the flush down Morgana’s neck with her hand, trailing between her breasts and splaying out her fingers on her stomach. “Do I make you nervous?”   
  
  
Morgana blushed deeper, colouring to the rose of her lips and nipples. “Your gaze makes me nervous.”   
  
  
“It should. I want to do  _everything_  to you,” Morgause said unabashedly, skimming her hand higher to massage Morgana’s breast.   
  
  
Morgana’s eyes fluttered closed and she arched into Morgause’s hand. There was something in the way that Morgause touched her that made her feel whole, even as it frightened her. She fantasised for a moment that Morgause was an invading warrior, that she had captured the city, slain Uther and taken Morgana as the spoils of war. Shaking, she reached out for Morgause, encouraging her to move atop her body, the weight of her banishing all of her fears.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The fest that night was a splendid affair. The hall had been decked out in banners of rich red and green, both trimmed in gold and lit by a border of candles in tiny lanterns that hung from the walls. From the ceiling hung bouquets of yellow and purple flowers which slowly shed petals to float down onto the guests like confetti, a blessing from above. The dais was raised three feet above the rest of the tables and was served by a trio of young Floriette girls who bowed low and flushed whenever Morgana looked at them. As Queen, Morgana sat on a carved wooden throne in the middle of the table, a gold crown on her head and the finest silver gown she owned hugging her body tightly. The Lady Eloise and Morgause, Knight of Camelot, sat to the left and right of her respectively, engaging her in conversation between visits from local nobles and even townsfolk to offer gifts to their Queen.   
  
  
Lord Ash and his wife brought a velvet pocket of emeralds and rubies, the colours of House Le Fay and House Pendragon. Lady Maycroft, an old widow, brought her a silver rattle for the King’s heir, which had once belonged to one of her dead sons, all of whom had perished young in war. The baker brought her an elaborate basket made of bread and filled with little lemon and blackberry tarts, which Morgana promised to take back to her chambers and devour as soon as the feast was done, making the humble man smile bright and bow his head to her. Next came the miller, who brought her the purest, finest white flour from the day’s milling, promising that it was the best he had ever produced, inspired as he was by her presence. Several more nobles brought meaningless gifts and more poor craftsmen brought their finest work. The last gift came from a small flame haired girl. She walked carefully up the steps to the dais, clutching a brown paper parcel in her hands. As she could not see over the table, Morgause called the child to her and picked her up, holding her on her knee, an easy smile on her face.   
  
  
“And who are you?” Morgana asked the little girl, her eyes sparkling and her smile dazzling.   
  
  
“Phyre,” the girl said, her eyes wide with awe that she was talking to the Queen, “but it’s Sophire really.”   
  
  
“Phyre, such a pretty name. How old are you Phyre?” Morgana asked, reaching out to touch the girl’s soft pink cheek.   
  
  
“Four and a bit.”   
  
  
The three women on the dais laughed, charmed by this little Phyre, who looked unsure of their laughter but held out her gift anyway. Morgana took the parcel and unwrapped the brown paper, lifting up a wide gold bangle with intricate carving and purple enamelled detail.   
  
  
“Oh Phyre, it’s beautiful. I will treasure it.” She slipped the bangle over her hand and reached out to take the girl from Morgause, kissing both of Phyre’s cheeks and her button nose as she giggled. The child was so small that when she stood on Morgana’s knee, she only just came level with the Queen. “Where are your parents?”   
  
  
Phyre pointed into the crowd.   
  
  
Her parents stood and bowed. Morgana gestured for them to come up onto the dais.   
  
  
“Your Majesty,” the man said, bowing as his wife curtseyed.   
  
  
“You have a wonderful daughter. You must be very proud of her,” Morgana said kindly.   
  
  
“We are, Your Majesty. Very much so.”   
  
  
“What is your profession?” Morgana asked him curiously.   
  
  
“I am a blacksmith, Your Majesty,” he answered, not daring to look up at her, keeping his head bowed. “And my wife makes jewellery.”   
  
  
“She is truly gifted,” Morgana said. “I must commission a piece before I return home.” She dropped the girl to the floor and let her run to her mother.   
  
  
“What do you desire?” the woman asked, her child on her hip.   
  
  
Morgana thought for a moment. “I have two items in mind. The first is long chain with an emerald pendant set in a silver cage that will hang hidden beneath clothing.” She reached into the velvet purse on the table, pulled out the biggest green stone and held it out in her milk palm for the jeweller to take. “I would also like something rather special. I was thinking of a gold necklace of sorts, one that lies across the shoulders and from the clavicle to low on the breast, fine in detail, not solid. Can you do that?”   
  
  
The woman nodded with fervour. “Yes, Your Majesty. It will be my finest work.”   
  
  
Morgana smiled Queenly, “Good. I will send my guard and champion, this fair knight of a Camelot, to pay you on the morn. Enjoy the rest of the feast.”   
  
  
“Are you sure that is wise, You Majesty?” Morgause asked, the formality sounding strange from lips that has spent the day pressed against her skin.   
  
  
“Yes,” Morgana said and that was the matter closed.   
  
  
When all the gusts had left, Morgana bid Morgause to return to the tower, leaving her alone with her aunt for a few minutes. There were plenty of guards to escort her to her chambers, she reasoned, and although Morgause looked reluctant, she did as she was told.   
  
  
“Is everything alright? Why did you send her away?” Eloise asked, concern etched into her aging face. They were alone in the hall, making it seem much bigger than it had when it had been filled with people.   
  
  
“When Morgause is out visiting the jeweller tomorrow, I wish to see the physician,” Morgana said calmly. “Have him sent to my chambers when she leaves.”   
  
  
“My dear, are you ill?” Eloise asked, laying her palm across Morgana’s forehead.   
  
  
“I have been feeling a little unwell is all. I do not want to worry her. She would only fuss and plead with me to stay locked in my chambers. I do not wish to waste a moment here in Mermering.”   
  
  
Morgana could see in Eloise’s eyes that she had seen through the lie, but as before, her aunt just nodded. “Of course.”   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
When Morgana entered her chambers, Morgause was dressed down to her breeches and undershirt, putting her freshly polished boots by the open balcony to dry. Her hair lung loose over her shoulders, one of them bare from the shifting of the too-big shirt she wore. There was a smudge of black on her cheek from the careless wipe of her hand, probably moving her hair from her eyes so that she could work. Morgana felt a rush of affection for her and her heart stung from her deception, even though it was necessary. She undressed herself but put on no night dress, letting Morgause cover her white skin with black blemishes. Dark handprints coloured her hips and breasts but she wouldn’t let Morgause wash them off, preferring instead to sleep with Morgause’s marks left on her, plain to see. She wished she could go back to her husband bearing them, showing him exactly how her golden knight loved her and how she submitted to her love entirely and frequently.   
  
  
Instead, she bathed herself clean whilst Morgause dressed to deliver payment to the jeweller the next morning. The workshop, she had discovered from a servant, was at the far end of town, a half hour’s walk from the Keep, probably longer if the streets were busy as they were sure to be. She left without breakfast, a lingering kiss from her bathing Queen more than enough to satisfy her, leaving Morgana alone to await the physician.   
  
  
In place of dressing for the day, she slipped on a loose underdress and sat nervously on the edge of her bed. Only three people had ever seen her in such a state of undress before: Uther, who would tear the garment from her body and bed her: Gwen, who would chatter with her as her careful hands prepared Morgana for whatever lay ahead; and Morgause, who would kiss her and drop to take one of Morgana’s breasts into her mouth through the fabric, whispering beautiful words. The last time she had seen a physician, it had been for a cold that had been annoying Uther with its incessant sneezing. He had not examined her at all, just given her an oil to rub on her throat and draft to drink with hot lemon water. Now though, she knew the case would be different.   
  
  
When the physician – an oily old man with wrinkly hands – arrived, he sat himself on the chair she had pulled out for him and began to question her.   
  
  
“My lady tells me that you have called for me,” he began.   
  
  
“Yes, sir.” He did not offer his name and she did not ask for it.   
  
  
“You have been feeling ill?”   
  
  
“Sickness mostly but I also find it hard to eat and at night I am restless. I’m sure it is nothing. Probably I am unsettled from my journey,” Morgana said, quickly regretting asking for the physician.   
  
  
“Hmmm.” The physician got to his feet and hobbled closer to her. “Lie down on the bed.”   
  
  
Nervously, she did as he asked, lying flat on her back where Morgause had slept the two nights before. The sheets smelt faintly of her, giving Morgana comfort as the physician prodded at her abdomen through her underdress. After a long while, finding no tenderness, he pulled back his hands and gestured for her to sit up.   
  
  
“How long has it been since you took your husband’s seed?” He asked abruptly.   
  
  
Morgana blushed profusely and dropped her head, her skin crawling. “Ten days.”   
  
  
“And before that?”   
  
  
“Most every day,” Morgana said quietly. She knew why he was asking and her stomach fluttered nervously.   
  
  
He nodded. “Then I would say that you are with child, Your Majesty. A little over two months gone. You will bear a babe in the depths of winter.”   
  
  
Duel feelings fought for dominance inside her, fear and relief. With a child inside her, Uther’s attentions would be lessened and even, perhaps, stopped all together. He would want more heirs, even if it was a boy, but whilst the babe was in her belly or at her breast then he could not get one on her. As much as the child would be his, it would also be hers. It would have just as much of her blood as it would of his and she would love it boundlessly for that. The love she already felt for the child bolstered the relief, but it could not win out over her fear. Her mother had died in childbirth, as could she. But before even that, the babe could be lost, especially with such a long journey back to Camelot. Mostly, what she feared was Morgause’s reaction. She tried so hard to assure her brave champion that she was hers, despite her wedded vows, but how could she still persuade her when a piece of Uther grew inside her? The only fits of jealousy that Morgause had shown were silent cold fronts the moment an heir was mentioned. But surely she would not cast Morgana aside? She said that she loved her, that she would always love her. Would that be enough?   
  
  
She resolved to tell Morgause right away, whilst they sat to eat breakfast on her return. She greeted Morgause warmly, kissing her deeply and, perhaps, a little desperately. The food that had been set out was plain enough that Morgana could stomach it, so for a while, they sat and ate and talked of unimportant things. Soon though, the anticipation could not be contained any longer and Morgana began to steer to conversation towards her condition.   
  
  
“Were there any problems at the jewellers?” she asked, washing down a bite of toasted bread with cold spring water.   
  
  
“None. The family’s name is Smith, not surprisingly, and the woman has a workbench in the house behind the smithy. She promises to have both pieces ready for the end of the week, long before we are to return to Camelot. From what else I’ve seen of her wares, you should be pleased with her work,” Morgause said pleasantly. She had a fondness for the people that Morgana shared. “What of you? Did you enjoy the rest of you bath? I’m beginning to think you are some sea creature in disguise, so much do you love the water.” She smiled a teasing smile that fell when Morgana did not return it.   
  
  
“I called for the physician whilst you were gone,” Morgana said, cold slipping over her body like a suit of icy mail. “It seems that I am with child. Two months along.” Though her heart was pounding and she longed to drop Morgause’s gaze, she would not. She held her eyes and waited for a reaction.   
  
  
The warmth in Morgause’s mien, softness of her expression and the hand she rested on Morgause’s knee all went away. “Congratulations,” she said, detached.   
  
  
“Thank you.” Morgana didn’t know what else to say. For a long moment, there was nothing but silence. Finally, Morgana said, “This changes nothing between us. My heart is still yours.”   
  
  
“But your body, as always, is his. All this time, I thought it was just you and me. I’ve lain with you again and again, thinking that I was the closest person to you at that moment – how could I not be? I was  _inside_ you – but I wasn’t, he was. He has been in you all along, growing bigger every day,” Morgause said, standing from the table and moving to where she had left her shoes the night before, the mid morning breeze catching her golden curls and playing with them.   
  
  
“Morgause, please! It wasn’t like that. I didn’t even know about the babe and even if I had, it wouldn’t have stopped how I feel for you or my decision to be with you.” She tried to follow Morgause, putting a hand on her shoulder, only to have it shrugged off. “My love, please. Do not let him ruin what we have. I do not intend for this to change a thing, even when we return to Camelot. We will find a way.”   
  
  
“I can’t,” Morgause said, something like regret in her voice, “not now that-” She gestured to Morgana’s stomach, the beautiful plane of white silky skin that she loved so much. She shook her head.   
  
  
Morgana grabbed her hand, putting it on her stomach. “See, you can’t even feel it.”   
  
  
“But I  _know_  it’s there,” Morgause said shortly, yanking her hand away. “That thing is like some cruel joke that Uther is playing us. He fails to get you pregnant for months and the moment we meet... I can’t do this Morgana. I just – I can’t!”   
  
  
“You knew this would happen!” Morgana shouted. “It was inevitable. Why start this if you were just going to run the moment things got difficult?”   
  
  
“Maybe I was in denial!” Morgause snapped. “Maybe I thought you couldn’t. Uther’s got enough bastards running around to staff the castle and you’ve been married for two years. Everyone is saying it!”   
  
  
Morgana jerked back from her as if burnt. She would never have believed that Morgause would say something so cruel. Tears ran down her cheeks and her heart broke clean in two.   
  
  
Eyes ablaze, Morgause turned and walked away, the heavy wooden doors banging loudly behind her.   
  
  
Left alone, Morgana fell to the floor and wept.


	11. Chapter 11

Morgana couldn't say how much time passed whilst she sobbed on the floor. Time had a funny habit of playing tricks on her when she wasn't keeping an eye on it. She used to wonder when she was a child if time would stop when she died. Time would stop for her. Why shouldn't it for everyone else? When she got older she realised that was selfish and instead wondered if time really was a constant forward flowing thing or if it was a bit more like honey. It flowed fast when things were warm and good but far too slow when the bitter pain and cold set in. Now it ran over her skin thicker and slower than ever, the stream of her tears doing nothing to thin it. So unbearable did it become that she felt sure she would drown in the stagnant pool of time that was clung around her. For hours she wallowed there, falling deeper and deeper until a hand reached out and pulled her free, into the steady flow of reality. The sun hadn't moved in the sky.

"Morgana?"

She looked up at her aunt's blurry face, seeing her mouth form the words long before the sound reached her ears.

"Morgana, what's wrong?" Eloise asked, holding Morgana at arm's length and frowning at her in concern – no, fear. Morgana couldn't blame her. Queens didn't cry at a few harsh words. They had no lovers to be scorned by. Whatever was making her weep must be a truly terrible thing. And it was, to Morgana it was. For the first time in her life she had been in love and it was truly what dreams were made of. Now she had nothing.

She opened her mouth to spill her pain but no words came out. She couldn't tell Eloise. What she had done with Morgause was treason and they would both lose their heads for it if it got out, whether she was carrying Uther's child or not.

"One of the guards to your tower told me that Morgause has left the Keep for the tavern in a fury and now I find you sobbing your heart out on the floor. I am sick but not blind, Morgana. Something has happened."

Fear must have flickered over Morgana's face, for Eloise looked upon her with pity. She was shaking, she knew, but her tears had stopped.

"You can tell me. I am your family, Morgana. There is nothing that you could say that would change that.  _Trust me_ ," Eloise implored.

"I – I'm with child," Morgana murmured so quietly that the gentle sound of the sea and the coastal breeze was nearly enough to swallow it up.

Eloise's worry softened and she took Morgana's hands in hers. "I thought this is what you wanted."

Morgana nodded and then shook her head. She didn't know what she wanted, except Morgause, and now she was gone. She was too young to have a child. Many her age had more than one by now but Morgana still felt her childish urges as strong as she ever did. She was barely twenty, but sometimes she felt as young as sixteen, back when she would giggle as she clashed swords with Gwen in a clearing just outside the city walls. Her want for a child had been selfish. She hadn't really wanted a babe at all. What she had wanted was peace from her husband's rigorous demands. But now it was in her, now she could lay her hand on her stomach and imagine another life flourishing there, one that needed her for everything. It made her dizzy with something a lot like happiness and fear combined – something that only Morgause had ever felt before.

"It is," she said finally.

"But it isn't what Morgause wants?"

Morgana's head snapped up and she stared at Eloise, her eyes wide with fear and her mouth open, a breath caught between her lips.

"Don't be afraid. Your secret is safe with me," Eloise assured her, her thumbs rubbing soothing circles on the backs of Morgana's hands. "I understand, Morgana. Do you hear what I'm saying? I  _understand_."

A charge ran over Morgana's skin like wildfire. She had never acknowledged it before, never given herself time to think out it, much less believe that there were others. Morgause had been with women before, she knew that, but she didn't really  _know_  it. She had never thought about it in a way that meant that those women too must have been like her, like Morgause. Tales surfaced in castle gossip every now and again but they were about men, never women. "How..."

"Do you remember Lily Floriette, my handmaiden? You can't have been more than nine years old the last time you saw her, so you probably don't-"

"I remember her," Morgana cut in, an image of the kindly woman flaring in her mind. "She had dark red hair and she made me a dress once with a ship on it."

Eloise smiled. The memory was a happy one but sad too, wistful, longing. "She died not long after she made that dress. It was a swift illness. It struck in the night and by evenfall the next day she was gone." She shed no tears. Time and age had dulled the pain to an ever present ache. They had been together for 30 years, a long time to create happy memories that brought her solace now. The hurt would never stop, but she had learnt to bear it as she had learnt to bear her illnesses. "Your father came for her funeral. We never talked about it but he knew how much she meant to me."

"He did?" Morgana asked cautiously. She worried constantly that she was displeasing her father in what she was doing. He had been a great friend of Uther's. He had sworn his family's swords to Camelot and ridden beside Uther at the battle of Illhelm. If her father's allegiance lay with her husband, then betraying him surely meant betraying her father as well. Then her mind conjured up another bit of history. It had been Morgause's father who had saved both Gorlois' and Uther's lives during that battle. The act had earned him his knighthood and given Morgause hers too.

"He did," Eloise nodded. "And he would have been happy that you've found someone who loves you. Morgause is a Wilde, she is fine and brave. Your father owed his life to her father. He would approve, I know he would. He was a good man, Morgana, the best I ever knew. That goodness is in you," Eloise said softly. She brought her hand up to trace the line of Morgana's jaw. "That, and his pride. You hold it here when you lift your chin, telling the whole world that you are the Queen and have an army's worth of strength behind you. I wish he could see you now. You've grown into such a beautiful and intelligent woman. Wherever he is, Morgana, he is as proud of you as I am." She brushed back Morgana's tear damp hair. "Now, tell me what happened with Morgause. It can't be all that bad."

Fresh salty droplets spilled from Morgana's eyes. "She's gone," she said. It came out as a choked cry. "She's left me." The words stung her heart like a spear slicing through it. To say it aloud made it true. It made it real.

"Because of the babe?"

Morgana nodded. She couldn't breathe. "She hurt me."

Eloise's eyes hardened. "She hit you?"

"No!" Morgana said quickly, almost angrily. She remembered the anger in Morgause's eyes when she saw the marks Uther left on her skin and the tenderness of her wary touch. "No. She wouldn't, no matter what!"

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry, go on," Eloise apologised.

Morgana swallowed. "She said that everyone thought that... They thought I couldn't have a babe, that I wasn't capable. Morgause said that she had thought that too and that was why she had never worried about it. She said that she couldn't be with me now that there was part of Uther in me. She looked at me with such... disgust. I've never felt worth more in my life than when she looks at me and in one swoop she tore that all to pieces. She hates me for being with child, I know she does!"

Pulling her close, Eloise wrapped her in a tight hug. "Shhh. Hush, Morgana. I know it seems that way now and I know that what she said hurt you, but if she loves you then she will take it back. What she did was wrong, very wrong, but you have to understand why this hurts her so. Living and loving the way that we do, Morgana, is complicated. Morgause has just learnt that the hard way. She knows that you want a babe and that she can never give you one. Think about how hard that must be. She loves you so fiercely – I could see that from the moment I saw you together – and she must hate him more than anything. He has things that she can never compete with. He has given you a babe and now she's scared that she'll lose you to him. She doesn't know where she'll fit in this new life you'll have."

"With me!" Morgana cried. "She fits exactly where she does now!"

"I know that, but she doesn't. She feels like she has lost you. When you become a mother, you will be beholden to your child. He or she will be your purpose in life. Morgause fears that you will cast her aside. She's jealous and afraid, that is why she is angry."

Morgana sniffled, her heart beating loud in her ears. "How do you know that?"

"Lily had a son," Eloise said simply, inviting no hope of elaboration. "So trust me when I say that I know how she feels. If you want her, Morgana, you will have to prove to her that you love her and that it won't change. If she's anything like me, she won't be able to give you up, not for anything, let alone this. She will calm down and then... then the hard bit starts."

 

 

Though it was only early afternoon when Eloise left, Morgana retired to bed. She covered herself with the blankets and curled up around Morgause's pillow, breathing in the scent of her like it was life itself. She thought about what Eloise had said as she drifted off to sleep, crying silently, praying that her aunt was right and that Morgause would return. She dreamt that she was in Morgause's arms, safe and loved, and for a while at least that gave her peace.

Hours later, the crack of the heavy door to her chambers being shut jerked Morgana awake. It was the dead of night and her knight had returned – her gold turned silver by the moonlight. She stood unmoving by the closed doorway, her hands stuffed in her pockets and her back hunched. The shadows of the white room hid most of her, but those beautiful curls were unmistakable. Morgana had run her hands through them what felt like a hundred timed in the little over a week they had been together. They were soft as any silk and shinier than any than any gold.

"Morgause?" Morgana called out, unsure if she was still dreaming.

"I did not mean to wake you. I should not have left you unguarded. I apologise." Morgause's voice was flat and emotionless, like she had been drained of the passion that usually flowed there. Morgana had never heard her sound so detected and it scared her. "I will sleep on the pallet."

"No!" Morgana called out quickly, sitting forward. "Please, I want to talk."

Morgause sighed, but as ever, she obeyed her Queen. As she moved closer, walking wide around the bath they had shared, the light of the moon caught her face and showed Morgana an emotion that she never thought she would see there – defeat.

"Sit down?" Morgana asked, making sure that Morgause could tell it was a request, not an order.

Morgause sat at the far end of the bed, closest to the door, and slowly lifted her head to look at Morgana.

"Where have you been?" Morgana asked tentatively. "The tavern?"

"Yes. But I'm not drunk, if that's what you think."

"No, that isn't – I did not mean that," Morgana said, shaking her head. "One of the guards saw you."

"I'm sorry for shouting at you. And for what I said. It was deeply wrong of me," Morgause said, not meeting Morgana's eye.

"Thank you. But I think that I understand why you are upset."

Morgause scoffed. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Do you think this is what I want, Morgause? Yes, I want a child but not like this. Do you have any idea what I would give for this babe to be yours?" She crawled forward so that she could lay her hand on Morgause's arm.

"It isn't though," Morgause said coldly.

"He could be. If you wanted him to be, that is. Not by blood, I know, but by something far stronger: love. The way I see it, he has to love you. He has been inside me all this time whilst I have loved you, felt everything that I feel. If you stay with me then he'll know the sound of your voice, the press of your hand against my stomach, the quickening of my heart when you look at me. That has to mean something, doesn't it? My heart belongs to you and he knows it, I know he does," Morgana said pleadingly. She took Morgause's hand and pressed it to her stomach. "He's so small now but he will grow big and strong knowing how much I love you and, I hope, how much you love us too."

Morgause looked down at her hand on Morgana's stomach. "I don't know if I can," she said honestly. "If it was anyone's but Uther's..."

"Uther is my husband," Morgana said carefully. "He put this babe in me and there will probably be more. I cannot change that and I cannot pretend that it isn't so." Morgause pulled her hand away. "But you are my love and my lover and every time you kiss me, every time you make love to me, a little bit of you seeps into me and into him. You will give him his soul and his heart. That is more important than flesh and blood could ever be." She brought her hand up cup Morgause's jaw. "I cannot live without you, my love. You are my heart, my hope and my purpose. I live to be with you. It's what I was made for, what I was put on this earth to do." She crossed half of the distance between them and then stopped. "You are the light in my darkness, my golden knight. Nothing, no man, no King, no babe and no god – be they a god of the old religion or the one god – can keep me from you."

Fire flared in Morgause's eyes and for a moment Morgana thought she was going to start shouting again or leave. But instead, she surged forward and kissed Morgana fiercely, the force of it pushing the Queen onto her back, putting Morgause atop her. Tears slipping down her cheeks, Morgana breathed in the kiss, taking everything she couldn't of Morgause inside her and keeping it captive there. She was so afraid; afraid that Morgause would leave her; afraid that things would never be as perfect between them again as it had by the spring on the island; afraid of the bruising way that Morgause was kissing her; and afraid that she would stop.

"I love you," Morgana whispered, frightened, looking deep into Morgause's dark eyes. "No matter what you think, I am not his. I am yours."

"You are no one's but your own," Morgause growled. But she had Morgana's hands pinned above her head, so Morgana thought that maybe she did understand after all. Being Morgause's didn't mean that she wasn't her own. It just meant that it was Morgause's arms that she belonged in and that she never wanted to leave them.

"I am yours," Morgana repeated. Morgause released her hands and sat back, but Morgana kept her arms where Morgause had left them. "Every bit of me."

Flames still burned in Morgause's eyes as she brought her hands to the hem of Morgana's night shift and began to push it up, past her thighs, her hips, her stomach, her breasts and then off completely, leaving her utterly naked.

"Yours," Morgana promised one last time.

Only then, did the flames in Morgause's eyes turn black.

 

The rising sun found Morgause already awake. Morgana slept peacefully with her head on Morgause's chest and her arm around her toned stomach. She had fallen asleep the moment she settled there and hadn't stirred since, blissfully unaware of the battle that raged the whole night through in Morgause's mind. She had not noticed the way that Morgause avoided touching the place where the child grew beneath as they lay together, her mind far too lost to ecstasy and relief. For her it was easy. She had everything she wanted. But Morgause didn't. She wasn't averse to the child all together. She wasn't cold hearted. Morgana loved the babe already and she wanted Morgause to love it just as much and that... that was where things got difficult.

A small early morning noise came from Morgana and she began to stir. Her fingers flexed on Morgause's stomach and her back arched in a stretch. Shivers rebounded through Morgause and her heart clenched. She had never loved anything as much as she loved Morgana. It had caught her completely by surprise that Morgana had loved her back. No one ever had before, not really.

She had never imagined that she would have children. Being a knight gave her the freedom not to marry and she would surely not do so out of choice. Now though, she had Morgana, the woman of her dreams, the woman she had spent years dreaming about and longing for. And now she had her, the gods had put an obstacle in their path. Whilst she lay awake, she remembered the warning her grandmother had been so fond of,  _'the gods will test you'_. If this was to be the test for Morgana's heart, then she was determined to pass it, no matter how high the cost to her. For the love of her Queen, her heart, she would do anything. Her decision was made.

"Good morning, my love," she whispered, ruffling her hand through Morgana's inky black hair.

Morgana buried her head in Morgause's chest, hiding from the light. "Is it morning already?" she murmured, the sound distorted by her hiding place.

A smile tugged at Morgause's lips. "I'm afraid so, my night owl of a Queen. Did I keep you up past your bed time?"

Morgana's laugh vibrated through Morgause's chest. "I was in bed on time alright. I just wasn't sleeping."

Not bothering to cover herself up, Morgana rose to sit, towering high, smiling adoringly down at her golden knight. The morning light made Morgana's skin glow pure flawless white like a statue of a Greek goddess. Morgause did not even try to hide her appreciation, letting her eyes linger on Morgana's breasts and grow dark.

The unabashed ogling would have made Morgana blush, but the night before had taken away the last of her shyness. Morgause's eyes had been so full of lust, that at first she was afraid. But the fear soon fled and she was emboldened under Morgause's gaze. She had never felt more powerful or more alive than when Morgause needed her that badly.

"You are  _so_  beautiful," Morgause whispered, reaching up to trail her hand between Morgana's breasts, down to rest where her stomach would soon swell. Morgana's hand covered hers and she smiled hopefully. "I cannot promise you things that are not under my control. I cannot say now that I will love it."

"I know," Morgana said quietly, dropping her eyes.

"But I love you and I swear that I will protect your child with my life. I pledge to you here and now that, if it is what you desire, I will treat this babe as though it is my own. I will dedicate my life to it, as I have to you. I will be there, unwavering, every step of the way." She brought her hand back up raise Morgana's chin. "I  _love_  you. For me that means forever. Nothing will change it and nothing and nobody will keep me from you. If you insist that you are mine, then I am yours, wholly and utterly."

There was fire in her eyes again and it made Morgana's stomach flutter.

"Mine," Morgana murmured, lacing her fingers with Morgause's and setting them above her heart.


	12. Chapter 12

This time, they had taken the boat around to the far side of the island, battling the ocean currents to land upon a grey pebbly shore. As they came in to land, Morgause couldn't help but be disappointed. She could not see how any artist would want to paint it or any bard dream it up. But as she watched Morgana pick her way carefully across the loose pebbles, the wind whipping her loose shirt to show the silhouette of her left side, she saw the beauty in the place. It was bleak sort of beauty, to be sure, but that made it all the more precious. What had at first seemed uniform grey below her feet, turned out to be made up of thousands of different shades from white to black. Pebbles the size of her fist laid buried amidst ones no bigger than a babe's button nose. They gave way beneath her as she walked on them, rolling back to the sea that had smoothed them with its watery caress.

  
Lining the monochrome beach stood austere trees - white, cracked wood contorted into strange shapes, long skeletal fingers reaching out for passing vessels. They would be different in winter – Morgana promised her, twining their fingers together – when they would sprout bluish green leaves and delicate red flowers for the solstice. She called them the crown of winter, and declared them to be the only ones of their kind in the known world. Morgause believed her. What did she knew of the world beyond Camelot?

  
Half way up the beach, Morgana stopped, dropped Morgause's hand and fell into a crouch, searching through the pebbles. The one she held in her hand when she rose looked no different to Morgause than the others, but with a flick of her wrist, Morgana sent it soaring into the calm surf. Under her power it leapt five times in and out of the water, before finally disappearing beneath the waves of the choppier water further out. Morgana laughed at Morgause's puzzled expression and dropped down to find another stone. When she laid it in Morgause's palm, it became obvious how it was different. It was almost entirely flat.

  
Without a word Morgana moved behind Morgause, pressing close to her back. "I'll teach you."

  
"I never did finish teaching you to wield a sword," Morgause murmured, her pulse quickening.

  
"You have taught me more than I could have ever imagined. Let me teach you something," Morgana whispered, her lips brushing against Morgause's ear, her breath hot. Morgause shivered. "Hold it like this," she arranged Morgause's fingers around the pebble, "and pull back your arm as if to shoot an arrow." She moved both her hands to Morgause's hips. "Now turn the top of your body until its parallel to the sea." They moved together. "When you throw, you need to flick from your wrist to make it spin but still stay flat, like that sharpened disk that knights sometimes throw."

  
"Knights don't use those. There is not honour in them," Morgause said as Morgana's arms wrapped around her waist. She noticed then, more than ever, the difference in their heights. If she leant back her head, she would be able to rest it on Morgana's shoulder, safe in her embrace as if it were Morgana who was the knight. Without her armour or mail, no one would be able to tell.

  
"You have the most honour of any knight I have ever met. And I have had the pleasure of meeting a good many knights," Morgana said, her innocent heart meaning every word.

  
Morgause laughed bitterly. "I have the least. I should not even call myself a knight. I'm a disgrace to the brotherhood."

  
"Me?" Morgana guessed rightly.

  
"But if it is dishonourable to love you, then I am proudly dishonourable," Morgause said, closing her eyes and picturing Morgana's windkissed face. She let herself be turned around.

  
"Kneel," Morgana commanded.

  
Morgause fell to her knees without a second's thought, bowing her head.

  
When Morgana spoke, it was above the wind, strong clear, as if they were in a silent night. "I am your  _Queen_. When you ride out to battle it is in my name. When fight in a tournament it is in my name. When you unsheathe your sword it is in my name. When you take a breath it is in my name. Whatever you do, wherever you go, you do so in my name. You say that a Queen is powerful. You say that a Queen is no less than her King. If that is true, then I tell you now that you are  _mine_ , not his," she proclaimed fiercely. "You are  _my_  knight and I  _love_  you. How can loving me back be dishonourable? It can't. It isn't." She brought her hand to Morgause's chin and raised it. "What could be better for Camelot than giving her Queen the strength to carry on? Love me, protect me and honour me." She held out her hand. Morgause held it gently and kissed it reverently. "And never say that you are less than a knight," Morgana begged, cupping her cheek, "because you are  _my_  knight, the best that ever was."

  
She brought Morgause to her feet and kissed her with all the strength of a Queen, the wind howling a chorus about them.

 

  
~~~

 

  
"It feels like the edge of the world," Morgause mused, her voice soft with wonder.

  
Turning from the sea, Morgana gazed at her fondly. The wind had dropped as the late afternoon set in but her hair still moved in the breeze, delicate gold strands blowing back from her temples, her curls shifting in the wind. Its previous bite had left her cheeks pink and the corners of her dreamy eyes damp from watering. At that moment, she didn't look like a knight. She looked like a Queen in her own right, a Wilde Queen. Or perhaps a priestess of the Old Religion. Morgana wondered if she was descended from any. If the stories she had been told about the Wildes were true, then she almost definitely was, despite the fact that the Wilde's had bent the knee at the start of Uther's reign. Morgana's mother's family, the Fearainn's had worshipped the many gods of the Old Religion long after Christianity had come to the isle, but that was generations ago and she hadn't had her mother long enough to ask about it.

  
"On a clear day you can just about make out the land I was born in," Morgana said wistfully, staring back out into oblivion where grey sea met misty grey sky. She turned away again, preferring Morgause's sun.

  
"I would love to go there one day," Morgause said, smiling a little as she watched the waves. "What was it like?"

  
Morgana smiled too. Sometimes she couldn't quite believe how beautiful Morgause was. "It's about the size of Camelot, Mercia and the long reaching Northern Lands put together. The north is rocky, full of small mountains and vast loughs. That's where I was born, right up on the tip, on a cliff that they say rose up to touch the gods. Anyone born there was said to be blessed by them. After my mother died – I was only three or four years old – my father brought me down to the west, where the Le Fay's had a trading centre. It's much flatter there and greener too. Galleys came in from Greece and Rome, sometimes Persia. I'd never seen so many riches and I doubt I ever will again. After about a year we went east to where my mother was born. We stayed there until I was nine and Mercia invaded Camelot. Uther called all those who were loyal to fight for him, including my father and his men. I spent my time after that either in the city or here. We had been coming over to Camelot since my mother died, so it wasn't so foreign to me. My father died three years later and Uther took me as his ward. When I came of age he took me as his wife."

  
"I'm sorry," Morgause whispered.

  
It was only then that Morgana realised she had been crying. "I'm not the only one who has lost people to illness or war. I'm lucky." She wiped away her tears. "Let's talk about something else."

  
"There is something strange about this island, isn't there?" Morgause asked after a moment, a ring shaped pebble turning in her hands.

  
"Yes," Morgana admitted, her eyes unfocused on the sea. "You can feel it, can't you? I thought you might be able to."

  
"There's magic here." It wasn't a question. "I can feel it prickling over my skin. It comes in waves from somewhere in the centre of the island."

  
Morgana looked down at the pebbles between her knees. "If you can feel it, then that means-"

  
"I know what it means. I don't practice, but I do have it. It's in my blood. I should have told you." Fear licked at the back of Morgause's neck like ice cold flames. "I'm sorry."

  
Morgana laid her head on her knight's shoulder and closed her eyes. "Don't be. I felt it the first time you kissed me."

  
Her panic quickly leaving her, Morgause chuckled. "Maybe it wasn't magic you felt. Maybe I'm just that good."

  
"It was magic," Morgana said with calm certainty. "Since then I've felt it every time we touch. It's like warmth and the brush of wind."

  
Morgause frowned. "Can you feel it now?"

  
Lacing her fingers with Morgause's, Morgana said, "Now. It has to be skin to skin. It's stronger here, on the island. Last time we came here, when we..." She trailed off, embarrassed.

  
"I thought I was the only one who could feel it," Morgause murmured, turning her head and burying her face in Morgana's midnight hair, inhaling her – savouring this salty, liberated version of her who would always belong to Morgause. "It's never happened with anyone before."  _There must be some magic in you too_ , she thought, but didn't say.

  
"It felt like you were rubbing stardust on my skin everywhere you touched," Morgana recalled, closing her eyes and remembering how simple it had been to just be with Morgause. It would never quite be the same again, that they both knew, no matter how hard they tried to recapture it. They were close to it, though, and that was enough. For a moment they lost themselves in the gentle sounds of the waves, remembering.

  
"Does this place have a name?" Morgause inquired after a while. She wanted to keep it forever inside her. For that, it needed a name.

  
"We aren't supposed to say it out loud," Morgana told her, feeling a little foolish for not wanting to break a childish game. She didn't know that it was just a game, though, not for sure. All she remembered was that the children all thought it was terribly amusing and the adults didn't. Was that because they weren't taking it seriously enough or because they took it too seriously?

  
"Then how did you learn it?"

  
"My cousin whispered it to me the first time I came across the sea." She sat up and brushed back Morgause's hair, leaning in until her lips hovered an inch from Morgause's ear. "Neorxna," she whispered, the thick language of the Old Religion flowing slowly and sweetly from her tongue like honey.

  
"Paradise," Morgause murmured, the word catching in her throat.

 

  
~~~

 

  
When they returned to the tower, they found one of the Eloise's two personal guards standing before the heavy wooden doors to their chamber, a torch burning on the walls at either side of him. Like the town guards, he wore no armour, his only protection a leather jerkin and his sword. On his chest he bore a small Le Fay crest denoting that he was one of the family's men, though not one of the family. He bowed low to Morgana.

  
"Your Majesty," he said deferentially, his head still bowed. "The lady Eloise requests your guard's presence. I am to stay here in her stead."

  
"Why?" Morgana asked, her hands on her hips. She knew she looked nothing like a Queen in her breeches and shirt, her windswept hair tied back. It always surprised her that people still bowed to her when she wasn't dressed in the finery she was required to wear at court. She didn't believe what people said. She wasn't to be Queen. It fit her ill, she thought. It was a life she was never meant for. Yet, it was the life she had.

  
"I do not ask 'why', Your Highness. My lady gives orders and I follow them."

  
Morgause wanted to roll her eyes, but then she remembered how easily she had fallen to her knees before Morgana on the island. "You will have the Queen of Camelot's life in your hands. If she so much  _feels_  threatened then you will not see another sunrise, is that clear?" She was a knight. He was a guard. That simple fact – and her almost noble birth – made her his superior and his commander.

  
"Yes, si- Yes," he corrected.

  
Morgause felt the flush of embarrassment rushing up her neck, but before it could reach her cheeks, Morgana held out her hand for Morgause to kiss, saving her.

  
"My champion," Morgana said by way of goodbye. With her eyes saying,  _I love you_.

  
"My Queen," Morgause answered, bowing her head to kiss her reply to the back of Morgana's pearl white hand, before she turned and left.

  
"What is your name?" Morgana asked the guard when Morgause had disappeared down the spiral stone steps.

  
The guard looked surprised. "John, if it pleases Your Majesty."

  
"John," Morgana nodded. "Guard my door and let no one but my guard and champion enter. No one but her. Is that understood?"

  
"Yes, Your Highness."

  
Morgana leant back against the heavy doors the moment they closed behind her and sighed. They had only four more nights in Mermering after the one that was closing in. Four more nights of the freedom their tower room gave them, four more nights in their whole lives to fearlessly sleep side by side. She pushed the unhappy thoughts aside and began to pull on the laces that kept her loose shirt from bearing her breasts. Unbound, the material fell aside down to her navel, where buttons held it together. She undid those too and shrugged the shirt off her shoulders, leaving it to tumble to the floor.

  
Kicking off her boots – she had never laced them back up since she had persuaded Morgause to walk barefoot in the surf – she made her way across the room to the dresser and looked hard at herself in the mirror. Turned head on the silvered glass, she looked just like she had her first night with Morgause, when she had caught sight of herself in the inn room's mirror, Morgause's hands skimming up her naked sides and over her breasts, her lips leaving a burning trail up her neck. But if she turned to the side, she could see the barest hint of change. Her stomach had never been hard and toned like Morgause's, but it had been flat, soft as it was. Now it bulged slightly outwards, half hidden beneath her breeches, arching gradually back to the thin flat line that ran between her breasts. It would be unnoticeable if you weren't looking for it, but by the time she was back in Camelot, she knew, she would be showing more obviously. Eloise's physician had warned her that she would not be able to disguise it for long. That beyond the she had reached, she would ripen until the babe was ready to be born and her breasts were fit to feed him. She didn't know whether she eagerly anticipated the change or dreaded it. The feelings felt so similar sometimes.

  
She wondered for how much longer Morgause would want to touch her. No long she supposed. The thought made her heart ache.

  
Loosing her breeches, she discarded them on the chair and made her way to the great bath. She stopped and sat on the edge, carefully lowering herself down to the seat that ran around the wall and then down the floor itself. Two steps towards the centre of the bath, her feet met with a thin layer of water and went out from under her. Her heart in her throat, she caught the side of the bath with one hand, keeping her, just, from falling. Frightened tears slipped down her cheeks and her hands trembled. She knew what could have happened if she had fallen. The one and only time that the King's first wife Igraine got with child, she fell on some steps and lost it. She died a week later from blood loss. Even if Igraine had loved Uther, she deserved more than to die battling to bring his precious heir into the world. Morgana would not let herself fall to the same fate. She loved him not and wouldn't give her life up to secure his line. The thoughts left a bitter taste in her mouth and she covered the small swell of her babe with her hand.

  
"I'm sorry," she whispered, closing her eyes and imagining the feel of holding a babe she had bore. "I love you. I do."

  
She wasn't sure who she was reassuring.

  
When her nerves had settled, she ventured out to unleash the water from below, quickly retreating back to the seat once it was done. She sat there watching the water rise up past her dangling ankles, up her calves and thighs, over her stomach and breasts. Only then did she slip beneath the water to quell its flow. Down there she felt weightless, like she was flying. She would miss the bath when she left, along with a thousand other things. She had a sense that she would be in need of feeling weightless by the time winter set in. Though she was sure Gwen would find a wayif Morgana wanted it badly enough, even if she had to forge it out of iron herself.

  
The warm spring water surrounding her body relaxed her muscles, lulling her into calmness. She wondered if it came from the same source as the one on the island. She hoped so. It was unlikely they would get back to that spring before they must leave. It was the last time she remembered being completely and perfectly happy. The first time was the night Morgause kissed her, soft, sweet and undemanding. Both were lost to the past and burned in her memory. Ever since she was a child, she had a gift for seeing things. If she closed her eyes she could playback a memory almost perfectly, as if she was reliving it. Sometimes, she could even change it and, for a moment, get to live the life of a Morgana who had made some other decision and, so, some other life. Sitting on the seat and leaning back against the warm stone wall, her eyes closed, the water lapping just above her shoulders, she remembered their first time on the island, when she had just been Morgana, not the woman who carried the King's heir.

  
That was the first day that she truly understood what love meant. She had been so scared of displeasing Morgause, of not being good enough. Morgause saw that and showed her exactly how she saw her. The beauty of it made a tear slip down Morgana's cheek even now. Through Morgause, she had learnt how to be a Queen. She had come to realise how powerful that made her and had found strength in herself that she never noticed before. Morgause had put fire into her. It burned bright, flaring when her emotions piqued, no matter the emotion. With her eyes closed, she could picture it blazing inside her, fuelled by magic and her new keen awareness love. If she focused on the fire, she could feel Morgause, anxious but a little bit relieved in Eloise's tower; she could feel her babe, emotions split between wakefulness and sleep, the only two states he had yet; she could even Gwen if she tried hard enough, lonely and at a loss far off in Camelot. She realised then just how much she missed her. Gwen had been her constant companion since she had arrived at Camelot. They had only ever spent two days apart before. The thought of seeing her again was almost enough to make her look forward to going home. She couldn't wait to tell her about the babe, she would be thrilled. An image of her holding him sharpened in Morgana's mind. She smiled and touched her stomach.

  
She slipped into somewhat of a trance after that, dreaming of the past and the future. Seeing things she wished would happen and recalling things that made her heart warm. Calmness settled over her that couldn't even be broken when a polite knock at her door opened her eyes.

  
"Who is it?" she called, her voice sounding silken even to her.

  
"It's me," there was a pause before the speaker concluded, "Your Majesty."

  
Morgana smiled warmly. "Then come in."

  
Morgause entered the room slowly, closing and locking the door behind her. She crossed to the bath and lay on her stomach opposite Morgana, resting her chin on her folded arms.

  
"Why did you knock?" Morgana puzzled. "I made sure that you and only you were allowed to enter."

  
"Because I know you too well and it was the gallant thing to do," Morgause explained softly. "No one should enter your chambers without your permission – especially when you are not decent to receive visitors – not even me. Particularly not me." Strands of her golden hair were spilling over the side of the bath and flowing into the water, the ends wetting.

  
"And why is that?" Morgana asked. The water did nothing to hide her virtue but she couldn't summon herself to feel self-conscious. Morgause did not look at her unduly. Despite what she expected, she did not feel want coursing through her. All she felt was calm. Unendingly calm.

  
"You should have your privacy. You are a woman – more than that, you are a Queen. You may choose to share everything with me, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't have privacy. Your door was closed. Any honourable knight, no matter how familiar with you they are, would knock."

  
"You are the truest embodiment of a knight there ever was. You are who fairytales are written about," Morgana said, utterly charmed. She pushed off from her perch and swam across to her gallant knight, reaching up to tangle a hand in her hair and kissing her in the soft way that fairytales should always be ended. She looked up into Morgause's deep brown eyes and felt her heart melt. Bliss tingled over her skin.

  
"What did my aunt want?" she made herself ask.

  
"To give me the benefit of her experience and discover just how deep my loyalties run. She made me realise some things that I was too stubborn to see," Morgause said, revealing little.

  
"What things?" Morgana asked.

  
"Good things," Morgause promised. "Are you tired? It has been a long day. The crossing back to land was tough."

  
"The bath has helped," Morgana said gratefully. She hadn't realised just how much she ached until the water melted it away.

  
Morgause smiled and touched Morgana's jaw. "Are you hungry? Someone told me that your favourite dish when you were little was salmon in a cream and butter sauce. I had the kitchens make it for you, along with those fluffy lemon things you liked at the feast. We can eat out on the balcony, it's a balmy night," she suggested. "A ship came in to the port with a hold full of lemons yesterday. We can buy some and take them back to Camelot if you want? The cook is having one of the kitchen boys who knows how to read and write make a note of both the recipes."

  
The moment Morgause had mentioned the salmon, Morgana became aware of the rich buttery smell on the evening air and was transported back to the last time she had visited Mermering with her father. She was nine, and had spent the day playing with one of her Le Fay cousins, Jacque, a boy from across the sea who couldn't speak a word of her tongue. They managed to invent games between them all the same, falling into a patchy sort of Latin they could both speak. He had been the one to tell her the name of the island. She had known for certain as soon as she heard it that it was from a language that neither of them spoke but both knew, the language of the Old Religion. The purge was still washing over the land at that time and Morgana had been scared into silence for the whole meal, meekly spooning up her fish and listening to the comforting sounds of her Father, Aunt and Uncle talking and laughing. Alain was her father's cousin in truth, and not her Uncle, but he was like a brother to her Father and Aunt, so that's what they called him. It was the last time she remembered feeling part of a proper family.

  
"Morgana?"

  
Morgana shook her head to break through the memory. "Let's eat."

  
Morgause got to her feet and bent her knees to reach a hand down to Morgana. When Morgana just stared warily at the offered hand, Morgause said, "Trust me."

  
As if Morgana were as weightless as the water made her feel, Morgause lifted her up in the air with only one hand, droplets of water raining from Morgana's skin. She placed her effortlessly down on the white stone floor. The strength it must have taken to lift her so took Morgana's breath away. She couldn't grasp how someone so small and slight could be so strong. Or how someone so strong could be as gentle with her as Morgause was.

  
Unbidden Morgause's hands brushed over the curves of her hips in tandem.

  
"I still cannot believe that I am permitted to touch you," Morgause breathed. One of her hands smoothed over the swell of Morgana's lower stomach.

  
Morgana closed her eyes and savoured the tingles running out from Morgause's fingertips. "Believe it," she murmured, begged.

  
Before she could open her eyes, Morgause had wrapped her in a silk sheet and dropped a kiss on her cheek. "Then I am the luckiest woman in the world."

  
"What did my Aunt say to you?" Morgana asked, her eyes wide and shiny.

  
"Enough," Morgause smiled. "She said enough."

  
And Morgana dared to hope that soon she might have a proper family again.


	13. Chapter 13

A light autumn breeze stirred the gentle ripples of Morgana's midnight hair to dance over her shoulders, catching beams of moonlight and shining like the black sea below. Sheer dark blue wings fluttered from her moon white arms, draping down to her waist where a belt of silver rings sculpted them into a long flowing skirt that trailed on the white stone floor of the balcony. From her temples ran twin slender plaits, joining at the back to form a single waterfall of unbraided black hair that twisted and curled, soft as summer silk. Wound through the plaits were slim chords of silver hanging with tiny lapis lazuli, forming her crown.

Morgause's breath had been stolen at the sight of her Queen cloaked in the night sky. She was so beautiful, that Morgause was afraid to touch her, afraid that if she did, she would turn out to be a dream. If the reactions of the guests at the feast were anything to go by, they felt the same way. Morgana glided through the evening with all the grace of a great and beloved Queen, accepting leaving gifts, making conversation with high and low born guests alike, toasting to Mermering's future and that of all of the Kingdom of Camelot, and thanking each and every citizen of the small port town for their hospitality and their loyalty to the crown and to the Le Fay family. Two weeks earlier, she had walked into a town where nobody knew her. Now, she would leave one in which every man, woman and child loved her – though none as much Morgause Wilde.

"You were exquisite tonight," Morgause murmured softly, wrapping her arms around Morgana from behind and gazing out to the sea. She was wearing the only gown she had brought with her, the deep purple that she had worn the night she came second in the tournament. It was nowhere near as fine as Morgana's, but it made Morgana's gaze linger all the same.

Morgana leant back into her embrace, her eyelashes fluttering closed as she lost herself in the feel of Morgause pressed against her, her curves unhidden by armour or mail. "There was a fair few eyes on you too, my love," she smiled, sending back a hand to tangle in Morgause's golden curls. "You will leave your share of admirers behind."

Morgause chuckled. "Not near as many as you."

"Nonsense," Morgana insisted, "I think that some of the townsfolk have had their heads quite turned by my dashing golden knight." She giggled and turned around in Morgause's arms. "I have a gift for you."

"Get one you didn't like?" Morgause teased.

"No. But I did get delivery of something I commissioned." Morgana produced a satin pouch from somewhere in the folds of her gown. She took one of Morgause's hands from her waist and closed it around the pouch. "You said once that for me you would sleep in Le Fay green, that away from prying eyes you were swathed in my colours. I've gone one better than a night shirt."

Releasing Morgana, Morgause tugged open the drawstring and upended the contents of the pouch onto her palm, a mass of silver and green.

Morgana plucked it from her hand and held it up so that Morgause could see the emerald pendant encased in a fine silver cage, dangling from a long, long silver chain. She asked timidly, "Wear this for me? Above your heart?"

Her heart thundering in her chest, Morgause nodded slowly, smiling almost shyly at being gifted something from Morgana. "Always."

Relief washing over her face like morning sun, Morgana draped it around her champion's neck, dropping the pendent under her dress, letting the heavy stone fall between her breasts and rest coolly above her heart. "With this, even when we're back at Camelot – surrounded by people who can never know – I will always be with you. I will always have my hand right here above your heart," she whispered, pressing her hand to Morgause's chest.

Blinking away tears, Morgause covered Morgana's hand with her own. "Your name is already written all over my heart. I don't any pendent to remind me of you, but I will wear it with  _pride_."

"And now, under all of that Pendragon red, I know that you are  _my_  knight _, mine,_ in  _my_  colours," Morgana proclaimed, her voice as hauntingly strong as it had been on the pebble beach.

"Yours," Morgause promised fiercely. This time, she didn't kneel, but stood strong beside her – her equal, her champion and her heart.

"Then in return," Morgana began, stepping back to rest against the balustrade, "I will wear your gold. Wilde purple would be too noticeable." Insecurity flickered in her eyes and went out. She took Morgause's hand and drew it to her belt.

"Someone could see you – see us," Morgause breathed, her head getting the better of the impulses thrumming though her body. "No soul should look upon the Queen of Camelot unrobed but-"

"Her King?" Morgana questioned, holding Morgause's hand in place.

Morgause looked away.

"The outer wall runs wide around the Keep, setting a hundred strides between it and us. No townsmen can see us and no guard below us would dare look up. Yours are the only eyes on me, my love. And yours are the only eyes I want on me. Do not fear on that account." She lifted her hand from Morgause's. "I may not wear your Wilde colours, but I wear something better than that – gold.  _Your_  gold, where none can see it..."

"No one except me," Morgause finished, keeping her eyes trained to Morgana's as she slid the silver overhang back through the loop and let the belt slip from her fingers. As the warm metal fell to the floor the material of Morgana's dress parted, the sheer silk unwrapping, taking with it the black wrapped underdress, leaving her white and bare in the moonlight. Except, that is, for the gold that dripped over her shoulders, running over her collar bone and down to rest over her beasts like the trails of a weeping willow.

"No one but you," Morgana confirmed, catching Morgause's fingers again and bringing them to her gold.

As Morgause's fingers closed over the precious metal, they met in an all consuming kiss.

And the wind, again, sang for them.  
  
-

Limbs languid and honey heavy, the Queen lay in her Champion's arms, her raven head pillowed on Morgause's chest, her fingers curling around the side of her ribcage as it expanded and contracted beneath them. She was breathing fast and heavy from their passion, her heart thrumming to the beat of a thousand warhorses thundering into battle in her chest. It had been her who backed Morgause into the bed, tumbled down on top of her and kissed her breathless. Morgause had lain beneath her, smiling up, awestruck, as Morgana conquered her like the Queen she was, her eyes a arduous verdant green. It struck Morgause then, as she lost the air from her lungs that Morgana was no longer the meek and fearful Queen that she had accompanied to Mermering.

In two short weeks Morgana had transformed. Insecurities and low self-worth still prickled over her skin, but they were mostly overwhelmed by increasingly powerful flashes of might and regality. Morgause could feel her growing fiercer with each passing day – feel it in her touch, her kiss, her mien. All of this without loss of a single ounce of her tenderness and her grace. Her vulnerability was still there, only now she had learnt how to conceal it from those she shouldn't trust.

"This is where I belong," Morgana whispered, her voice full of newly found conviction. The dawn of their final day in Mermering was filtering through the wispy white drapes at the entrance to the balcony. It filled the room with amber and rosé that reminded Morgana of the flush a kiss brought to Morgause's cheeks and the blush that a gentle touch could elicit at her clavicle.

"One day Mermering will be yours." Morgause trailed one hand lazily through Morgana's silken hair, savouring the feel of it slipping easily between her fingers. "Of course you belong here."

"I did not mean Mermering," Morgana murmured, her voice softening like melting butter, "I meant with you. I belong here, in your arms." She turned her head and pressed a chaste kiss to the smooth skin of Morgause's breast.

"I am inclined to agree," Morgause said dreamily. "And whatever happens, know that I swore my sword to my Queen and my heart to my beautiful Morgana. Nothing will keep us apart. I will make certain of it. I have vowed to it."

"I know." The pitch of Morgana's voice gave away her uncertainty, her trepidation over what awaited them. She tightened her grip on Morgause. "Tell me something."

"Like what?" Morgause asked, laughing lightly.

"Anything. How about the gods your family worshipped? I don't know anything about them. All mention of them is banned within the walls of the castle."

"There are many," Morgause began. "Far more than I could name, I fear."

"Like the Greeks and the Romans," Morgana guessed.

"Just like them," Morgause agreed, trailing her hand down from Morgana's hair to run up and down the curve of her lower back. "My favourite when I was a child was Andraste, our goddess of war, to whom the hare is sacred. It is said that she was the one who raised my family's village high to defend us and so it is to her that we owe our great debt."

"What did she look like?" Morgana's eyes closed so that she might picture her. The chapels in Camelot were full of icons of every saint and member of the holy family, but she had never seen a single depiction of one of the old gods.

"No one knows. She was evoked before battle to gain favour but she only appeared to those who were mortally wounded. Only the eyes of men about to meet their maker may look upon her. It is their final reward," Morgause said. "But I did picture her when I was young. I imagined her to have skin like yours, pure and white as the first winter snow. Her hair was the colour of autumn red leaves, tumbling over her shoulders and down her back, never restrained, always free to flow behind her as she rode unseen through the battlefields of the earth, keeping watch over her people. Her eyes, I always imagined, were grey like steel and just as hard. It is from those wise eyes that our swords get their strength. She sees through them and guides them against our foes. Sometimes, when your doom is upon you, your sword seems to move of its own accord, striking where you did not know an enemy lurked, moving quicker and with more force than it is possible for a sword wielded by any mortal to be. That is her doing."

"She sounds terrifying," Morgana whispered, shivering with the thought of her.

"Not to her people," Morgause smiled, gathering her arms around Morgana. "I whispered her name over and over in my head when Camelot was sacked. I felt her guiding my sword when my courage left me. She saved her people even though they have forsaken her."

"Even though Camelot worships the One God?" Morgana asked, turning to look up at Morgause.

"The old god's time is past and they accept that. They will wait patiently until we turn to them again. Now is the age of great earthly kings and queens, who must reign under their own power. My father taught me never to forget our past, but never to stop looking forward either. If you want something, you have to make it happen for yourself. Relying on a higher power – be that a god of the Old Religion or the One God – will get you nowhere. The Wilde's know that better than anyone. Andraste may have exalted our village, but without the fire in our hearts and the courage in sword arms, we could not win the battle. " She slipped her hand between them to cover the swell at Morgana's stomach. "In you is all the power and courage you need to win a bright future for Camelot through your son."

Morgana smiled and moved Morgause's hand from her abdomen to fold their fingers together. "I found those things in you," she corrected, bringing her lips to Morgause's wrist.  
  
  
-

The table was spread heavily with the bounty of the sea. A large haddock was the centrepiece, roasted with a crust of salt and nuts, filled with samphire and crabmeat in a cream sauce. Surrounding it were plates of cockles and Muscles cooked in butter and parsley, and bowls of creamy fish soup with cobs of bread and a mousse made of crayfish from the river that ran down from the mountain. The very best of Mermering's fare had been laid out for them, a private farewell feast.

"Are you looking forward to returning home, Morgana?" Eloise asked, a sweet smile on her lips. She was looking stronger than when they first arrived and Morgana dared hope that one day she would see the little prince that Morgana carried. "There must be some home comforts that our little town cannot attend to?"

"There are a few things I have missed," Morgana admitted with a laugh. "I could not persuade Morgause to let me bring more."

"We already had to bring a packhorse," Morgause reminded her. "I hardly think you have been unduly deprived by leaving behind a few gowns. Would you rather we brought a cart and squire to pull it?"

Morgana's laugh bubbled up from her throat. "No, I suppose not. But it isn't really things that I miss. Guinevere,  _Gwen_ , my maid. I miss her the most. She has been with me since I my father died and I have never been parted from her for more than a week. And even then it was because she had caught some perilous infection and had been bedbound. I couldn't stand it for any longer than that. I stole away from the castle at night and ran through the streets to her house. Her father, Tom, found us in the morning, me fast asleep sat up against the wall in her bed, her with her head in my lap. The King screamed bloody murder when I caught the sickness too. Gwen stayed with me whilst I was sick, plaiting flowers in hair and fretting when my fever rose." She smiled, her stomach fluttering at the thought of seeing her friend again so soon. "She was a mother, sister and best friend all rolled into one. I couldn't live without her."

"I'm glad that you have such good people around you. You are going to need them when the babe comes," Eloise warned.

"She will have all the help she needs," Morgause promised. "I will make sure of that."

"I trust that you will," Eloise said, reaching for the nearest plate of cockles and muscles. "Did you enjoy your last day? What did you do?"

Morgana nodded and Morgause bit her lip to stop her smile.

"Nothing too exciting, Aunt," Morgana lied. "Just a stroll down the beach."  
  
-

" _Are we nearly there?" Morgause asked, reigning up her Dream. There was light autumn rain falling in the mid morning haze, and she was starting to shiver. She left her mail and armour at the tower in favour of a warm woollen tunic and breeches, not anticipating the rain. Her clothes were wet through and starting to chafe, her patience running thin._

" _It's just around this outcrop," Morgana promised. For once, they both wore Camelot's colours – Morgause with her Knight's cape fastened with a rampant Pendragon lion and Morgana with her hooded crimson cloak to ward off the foul weather. The cloak was too big for her but it had been her father's, the one he wore for ceremonial purposes, and always seemed to keep her from the cold and rain. When she was younger she used to imagine that being wrapped in it was akin to being wrapped in her father's embrace. But she couldn't quite picture him anymore, and the image refused to form in her mind._

" _What is?" Morgause asked, hoping to catch her out. It was to be a surprise. She hated surprises. For Morgana's sake she was playing along._

" _Catch me and find out," Morgana challenged impishly before urging her Nightmare from a walk to a canter, splashing up the ankle-high water they were riding through as she went._

" _Morgana!" Morgause shouted, getting a face full of salty water. But Morgana only sped up, digging in her heals and disappearing out of sight. "She'll be the death of me," she whispered conspiratorially to her horse, "just you wait and see." Evidently agreeing with her on that, her horse snorted, tossing his head. "Just be glad you're a horse. I'm telling you, women are nothing but trouble." With a soft kick behind her leg, she urged her horse straight into a gallop, the cliffs and sea quickly turning to nought but a blur, taking twice the land under them with every stride than the Queen's mare._

_When they rounded the corner, their quarry came into sight, heading inland along the wide sands, making for what appeared to be a waterfall coming off the edge of the cliff above to splash right into the sea. The stone behind it was the same stone that had been quarried to form the White Keep and the water was so clear that it must have come from the stream they bathed in on the mountain. No moss grew where the water splashed, leaving the rock so pristine white that it almost looked unnatural. This was a place that Morgause had no trouble seeing the beauty in. Eager to get a closer look, she quickly devoured the gap between them, catching up with Morgana just as she was dismounting._

" _What is this place?" Morgause asked, quickly following Morgana to the ground and leading her horse to the tethering point driven into the rock. Up close, she could see the chisel marks in the cliff, worn and smoothed by time and water. "Is this where the stone for the Keep came from?" she asked, running her hand along the scars in the rock._

" _Four hundred years ago," Morgana confirmed, coming up beside her, her face hidden by the cloak. "The first Le Fay's to set foot on this land set about quarrying the rock to build a castle, the biggest most impregnable castle you can imagine. Turrets high as mountains, dungeons to the centre of the earth, white walls as far as the eye could see."_

" _That's hardly a description of the White Keep," Morgause said evenly._

" _Exactly. They were greedy. They wanted too much from a land they barely knew. With only a quarter of the stone that they required quarried, disaster struck. A torrent of pure fresh water crashed over the cliff's edge, storming down on the miners below like Gaia's own fury. The Le Fay who ordered the work, the leader, Bray-"_

" _Bray?" Morgause interrupted, stifling a snort. "Bray Le Fay?"_

_Morgana gave her a dangerous look and carried on as if she hadn't heard the interruption. "- was swept away to sea and never seen or heard of again," she finished. "His younger and wiser brother stopped the work immediately and declared that the land had spoken. All that could be taken from it had been taken. He was my ancestor and he built the White Keep. It was him who decreed that we did not need walls big enough to keep out an army. We weren't granted them."_

" _So he left his settlement with second rate defences?" Morgause said disapprovingly. "Not exactly winning military strategy. It's a good job that the Le Fay's were traders and not fighters. I doubt that they would have lasted long enough for you to come along."_

" _That really isn't the point," Morgana said sharply, her anger flaring before she realised that Morgause had been joking. "The point is that we became part of the land that day. In learning to live with it and take only what we needed, we formed a bond with it that stays true to this day."_

_Morgause entwined her fingers with Morgana's. "That's beautiful."_

_Morgana looked down at their hands and smiled. "Come on, let's go inside."_

_Frowning, Morgause asked, "Inside where?"_

_Morgana laughed and tugged on Morgause's hand, setting off for the waterfall. "You'll see."_

_Mindful that she was already soaked to her skin, Morgause followed her towards the splashing water with trepidation. They picked their way around the small white rocks that lay embedded in the sand, pieces that had fallen from somewhere above or had been deemed too small to build with, and made straight for the gap between the wall of water and the wall of rock, slipping inside the mouth of a hidden cave._

" _Gods," Morgause gasped, dropping Morgana's hand and taking a step forward. "It's beautiful."_

_A fire was already burning in the centre of the cave, instantly banishing the cold from her bones and sending flashes reverberating over the walls and ceiling. Something was glittering there, catching the light and shining with every colour that Morgause had ever known. It was like the rock itself was alive, calling out to her, inviting her in deeper and deeper. The island had been breathtaking. This was something else entirely._

" _Don't look at it," Morgana smiled._

" _But... but it's so..."_

" _Don't look at it," Morgana repeated._

_Morgause couldn't tear her eyes away. It felt like every bad thing that had ever happened to her, every pain she had ever felt, was melting away in the face of such beauty. She needed to see more of it, follow it as she could go. She took a step forward._

" _Don't look at it," Morgana said again. "You aren't a Le Fay. Look at it and the cave will swallow you whole."_

_When Morgana took her hand, the longing to travel deeper into the cave went away, leaving her light headed. "What – What was that?"_

" _A defence mechanism," Morgana said simply._

" _Magic?"_

_Morgana weighed it up, tilting her head to one side, then the other, not sure how to answer. "Something older."_

" _I thought you were just being poetic when you mentioned Gaia," Morgause murmured, tightening her hold on Morgana's hand, frightened that if she let go, then it would take hold of her again._

" _I was," Morgana laughed. "We don't know what it is exactly, but what we do know is that it protects Le Fay's. Every single man who worked to dig out this cave was my kin, and not a single one of them got rich off the precious stones in these walls. They didn't take even one. But one day, whilst they were working, some bandits attacked. They held a knife to the man in charge and ordered the men to mine them some of the precious stone, or they would kill their leader. When they had what they wanted, they slit his throat anyway. The second the blood hit the stone floor, this place started defending itself. There was a small collapse – see, over there," she pointed out a hollow in the ceiling, " – that killed the bandits and saved the rest of the men. Ever since that day, only Le Fay's may enter unharmed." She squeezed Morgause's hand and leant closer to whisper into her ear. "And, of course, those whom we trust, those whom we protect with our touch."_

" _So if I let go..."_

" _You'll be lured into the depths of the cave and never find your way out," Morgana confirmed. A mischievous smile coloured her lips. "Some of my older cousins used to bring girls from the town here when I was young. It's quite famous for it. Its real name is the Veiled Cave, but everyone calls it Kissing Cave because the only thing that you can do here and be certain never to stop touching is..."_

_Morgause kissed her right on cue. "It isn't the only thing."_


	14. Chapter 14

Morgana sat atop Camelot’s monstrous throne, powerful but tiny in its oaken grasp. Balanced on her head was a heavy reagent’s crown of gold entwined steel set with rubies and emeralds, weighing down on her with the expectations of a kingdom in turmoil. As she closed her hands over the rounded edges of the throne’s armrests and began to raise her eyes, the world around her melted away and resolved into a scene that only her consciousness inhabited. There was a young girl there, a child no more than six or seven, kneeling before someone Morgana could not see. The girl’s pale cheeks were stained with tears, dampening the strands of ebony black hair that had fallen free from the elaborate braided and twisted style that held it up from neck. Though Morgana strained to see her face, the child’s smooth young features and closed eyes betrayed no identity. She could be any of a hundred thousand children, but somehow Morgana knew exactly who she was. It was her silence that gave her away. When her vision flickered and changed, it offered her only a glimpse of a great feast, a gold plated chalice falling from limp hands, crashing to the floor and then the image changed. She saw a sword, one of the customary blades wielded by the knights of Camelot, its hilt running crimson with blood, rushing over an engraved soaring eagle and down the steel, tearing fear from her belly and jolting her awake.   
  
She had suffered from nightmares long enough that she learnt to hold her tongue when one got the better of her and yanked her roughly back into the real world. For a long moment, the only sounds were her own laboured breathing and the crackling of the fire, and she knew not where she was. The world was dark outside the reaches of the fire and she had to struggle to make out other shapes lying around it. The first she saw confused her, a mother with her arm wrapped around her sleeping child, a man in dreams at her back. Morgan feared she had woken from one dream and into another, but the sight of blonde curls gleaming through the fire brought back her memory and her comfort both. She closed her eyes and prayed to any god who would listen to keep her slumber dreamless.   
  
When she woke next, the dying fire had been reborn and there was porridge cooking above it. Slipping from under her furs, she rose greet the day, rubbing eyes against the bright morning light and yawning away the last of her weariness.   
  
“Sleep well?” Morgause asked softly, rising and offering her the bowl of porridge that she herself had been about to tuck into. Morgana took it gratefully, letting their hands brush together in place of the intimacy that their company kept at bay.   
  
“Well enough,” she answered evenly, following her knight to the broad stone she had been sitting on and settling beside her. There was no reason to worry Morgause unnecessarily. She could barely even remember the nightmare that had broken her sleep. “And you?”   
  
Morgause just smiled and got herself another bowl.   
  
“What about you?” she asked the shy little blonde boy, warming her hands on the bowl. “Did you make the most of your last night under the stars before your journey is over?”   
  
The boy, whose name was John, giggled and blushed.   
  
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Morgana smiled, raising her eyes to his mother. They had come upon the humble family travelling in the opposite direction on the mountain road and had joined their camps. Mermerians were by the majority fishermen and this man did not disappoint. He carried with him a fresh catch and shared it willingly with them, scarce though the fish was once shared between five. In return, Morgause had given up her furs for the mother and son to sleep under and had shared their breakfast of porridge. The easy kindness of the couple made Morgana wonder how little they had for themselves back in Mermering. She had not offered that she was the Queen, nor Morgause that she was one of Camelot’s famed knights. The deception made her uneasy. Would they be so keen to share if they knew the life of plenty both women led? Nevertheless, it was Morgause’s advice that she gave little of herself, so she obeyed.   
  
“We’re thankful,” the father, Horace, said, lifting the bowl in his hand, “for the food.”   
  
“No less than we are for last night,” Morgause said, picking up the conversation when Morgana did not immediately reply.   
  
“Nonsense, you have a long journey ahead of you and we will be in our own beds by nightfall.”   
  
Morgana tuned out of the conversation then, starring down at the breakfast whose rich milky smell had woken her and now turned her stomach. It would taste sweet on her tongue, she knew, but she could not bring herself to raise the spoon to her lips. The thought of it sent shivers down her back. It was becoming the norm to wake well and rested, only to quickly descend into nausea and tiredness. A night on the hard ground had done nothing to mitigate it.   
  
Taking a glance up, she saw Morgause spoon more of the porridge – the porridge that should have been hers – into the boy’s bowl. In made her smile and take a bite of her own fare. As she expected, the honey made it taste pleasant enough, but swallowing it was an effort. She would gladly suffer, though, for the reward at the end. What she had done to get that far, her stomach beginning to stretch around a new life, was far worse than forcing down her breakfast.   
  
“Are you alright?” Morgause asked in a hushed tone, sitting back down beside her, her voice coloured with concern and her eyes bright with longing to touch her, comfort her, kiss her.   
  
“It will wear off,” she whispered with a small smile. “And we’ll be in Carnna tonight with a warm fire and a warmer bed. I will be fine, I promise. Stop worrying.”   
  
“It is my duty and my honour to worry about you. Have the grace to let me,” Morgause murmured, her dark brown eyes deep to lose yourself in. Morgana did just that.   
  
  
...   
  
  
Symmetry would dictate that the room they proffered at Carnna be the same one they had shared on their way to Mermering, but life never quite worked out that way. Instead, they ended up in the slightly smaller room across the hall, their previous room being occupied by a rich merchant who was travelling back to his ship with a bag full of gold coins. If she had thought it would make a difference, Morgana might have outbid him and have him thrown into another room, but the landlady misliked them and throwing about their money would attract them more bad luck than good. Plenty of the men drinking at the tables in the bar downstairs were likely to be bandits and it would not do them well to identify themselves as a worthy mark.   
  
As she walked into the room, Morgana could not help but feel the heavy weight of disappointment tugging on her weary limbs. The size did not bother her so much as that it was not the room they had had before. She had spent the long hard ride down the mountain looking forward to sleeping in that bed again – the bed she had first lain with Morgause in, where she had learnt what love truly was. It had never occurred to her that they would end up in a different room. She had just... expected. The disappointment was enough to sap the last of her energy and leave her mood dark, if placid.   
  
“Do not be too disheartened, my Love,” Morgause whispered to her once the door was shut and locked behind them. She came up behind Morgana and reached around to undo the clasp that held her travel cloak in place. With deft, gentle fingers, she lifted the weighty velvet lined lambs wool from Morgana’s shoulders and folded it over the back of the dining chair by her side. Then she swept aside Morgana’s hair and kissed the back of her creamy pale neck softly, just as she had done that night. “Some decent food and a warm bath will see you right of your illness and raise your spirits too.”   
  
Morgana’s first thought was that her spirits did not particularly want to be raised. They were quite content wallowing in their sorrows, burrowing down deep in the dark and hunkering down for the winter. Her second thought was more pleasant, so she voiced it. “Only if you join me,” she said hopefully, turning her head so that she might look back at Morgause but not quite managing it. She felt another press of a kiss to the back of her neck and the warmth of strong arms closing around her waist.   
  
“You should enjoy it alone. You need to look after yourself. And besides, the tubs here aren’t a tenth of the size of the ones boasted at Mermering,” Morgause said into the taught stretched skin across her shoulders.   
  
A cold shiver ran through the Queen.  _They were plenty big enough before_ , she thought solemnly,  _now we have left Mermering, all will change_ . Though she was sure she was imagining it, she thought she felt her heart sink an inch or two in her chest.   
  
“I shall get a girl to fetch you warm water and a boy from the kitchens to bring us something to eat. I heard one of the serving girls downstairs say that there is pie of cheese, onions and belly bacon browning in the oven. We need something tasty after a day of porridge and fish.”   
  
Morgana could do nothing but nod, letting Morgause make arrangements as she always did.   
  
“And after all’s been done, I’ll give you your present,” Morgause said in a deceptively conversational tone, testing to see if Morgana was really listening, which she was. Well, enough to pick up on the word ‘present’ anyway.   
  
“You have a present for me?” Morgana asked, turning around to face Morgause as her eyes lit up for the first time since they had parted from the sweet blonde boy who had picked her wildflowers after breakfast.   
  
“That I do,” Morgause confirmed, kissing her lightly. Her smile was charming enough to make Morgana go weak at the knees – though most things Morgause did or said did that to her. “One I’m sure you’ll like.”   
  
Morgana smiled honey sweet and let Morgause kiss her again.   
  
  
...   
  
  
By the time Morgana was submerged in warm water by the fire everything was beginning to seem much rosier. Morgause might not have been in the water with her, but the rustling of her going about the room reminded Morgana of the ballad created by Gwen going about her duties, and Morgana found herself soothed to the point of dozing. She dreamt of the time she and Morgause had spent on the island, loving and laughing and learning of one another. They were just sharing a slow but needy kiss, Morgana having been backed against a tree trunk, when she was awoken by a real-life kiss to her temple.   
  
“If you sleep any longer, you will not sleep tonight,” Morgause told her softly.   
  
Morgana did not much want to sleep that night. She wanted to be caressed and coveted and consumed, until there was nothing left of her to return to Camelot and her King. “I would not have slept if you had joined me,” Morgana murmured sleepily, cupping Morgause’s hand on her cheek and turning to kiss it.   
  
As Morgause pulled away and stood up, Morgana saw her gaze flicker beneath the water to where she lay exposed and open. If it had been two weeks before, she was sure that Morgause would have climbed in with her then, or else pluck her out and carry her to bed. Now though, she just smiled and collected herself.   
  
“Are you still hungry?” Morgause asked, lifting her eyes to meet Morgana’s.   
  
Morgana shook her head. She had not been hungry for the first slice of pie, nor the second. Her stomach felt like a mess of knots growing more and more entangled with every flicker of the candle. With their journey underway, the reality of what life would be like once they arrived back at Camelot was setting in hard. She had imagined stolen kisses, nights in each other’s embrace and the innocent little touches that no one would even notice, but would be laden with meaning for them. None of her imaginings had included the other guards who stood outside her door or the inevitable attentions of the King. Being with his child might keep him at bay for a while, but that was not guaranteed. He had always been insistent upon taking his rights with her in the past. Thinking that the babe in her belly would protect her from him was foolish and would only lead to disappointment. Even if he did miraculously keep his hands off her, he would want another heir as insurance as soon as their son was born. She had always known it deep down, and now, with Camelot growing ever closer, she was beginning to realise just how inevitable it was.   
  
“I’ll wrap it up and we can have it for lunch tomorrow by the side of the road.” Her smile flickered and died. “We won’t make it back in a week. You are in no fit state to travel from dawn ’till dusk. The King will just have to wait.” Morgause’s dislike for Morgana’s husband had grown darker and stronger since she had become Morgana’s guard, but the code of a knight was strong in her and she could not help calling him her King.   
  
“I would not protest to that,” Morgana said thankfully. “Today was hard. My stomach is sick more often than it is not and it seems worse every day. Still, there is no reward without suffering.”   
  
“No,” Morgause agreed, her eyes distant. “There isn’t.” She ran her hand backwards through her hair and shook it out, her eyes closing for an instant. It was a habit that Morgana had picked up on, usually done when Morgause sought to rid something from her mind. When she opened her eyes, they were filled with warmth and anticipation, her melancholy forgotten. The quick transition seemed to come so easily to her – it was a trick Morgana longed to master. “I almost forgot about your present.”   
  
Morgana’s smile bloomed. “I had not. Do not worry; I would not have permitted you to forget.”   
  
“I rather think you would not,” Morgause agreed knowingly. “Wait there and I will bring it to you.”   
  
When she returned, she was cradling a verdant cloth wrapped bundle as long as Morgana’s arm and a quarter as wide, tapering until it was no thicker than her thumb. She dropped to one knee and held it out to Morgana, smiling. “For you: my Love, my Queen.”   
  
“Which comes first?” Morgana asked, rising until she was sitting up in the old metal bath, her nipples stiffening from the sudden cold. For a moment, Morgause’s eyes fell to them, before she swallowed her desire and answered Morgana’s question.   
  
“My Love,” Morgause answered confidently.   
  
“And you would not put that aside if it were the will of your Queen?” Morgana tested further, eager for the right answer.   
  
After a moment’s consideration, Morgause said, “No. Though I would put it aside if my Love required that I do so, and resign myself to a life of sorrow and grief. Now, take your present or I might just keep it.” She placed the gift in Morgana’s waiting hand.   
  
“Correct,” Morgana commended, the smile on her lips a distinctly regal one as she unwrapped the silky green cloth from the curiously hard object shrouded within. The childlike part of her bid her to hold one end of the cloth and let it drop, sending the gift to unwind in an instant instead of all the tedious careful undoing she was engaged in. Another more sensible part of her pointed out that whatever was in side would surely fall unto the water if she were to indulge that urge, possibly spoiling it.   
  
“It is not jewellery or anything fine like that,” Morgause forewarned her, suddenly sounding nervous, “but I think you will like it. At least I hope you will.”   
  
As she said it, the last of the cloth fell away, leaving a sheathed dagger in Morgana’s palm. It was no ordinary dagger. The sheath was plated in gold, with a pattern of intertwining vines around its edges that made a pretty border for Morgana’s initials engraved upon it in a small cursive hand. At its top, the hilt stood proud with a cross-guard of matching gold, a grip of twisting black leather and green enamel. The pommel was set through with a large emerald that caught the firelight and sent green light dancing over Morgana’s pale thighs. She watched the light, transfixed, and remembered the first time she had held an emerald, wrapped tight in her father’s arms. The precious stone had come in on one of his trading ships, a gift for her that he had sent for across several seas to mark her fifth birthday. She had not thought about that moment for an age.   
  
Holding her breath, Morgana grasped the sheath in one hand and the hilt in the other, pulling the dagger free with the ring of steel on steel that send shivers down her spine. The blade was simple, but sharp as a razor, wrought in fine pale steel polished until it shone. Like the emerald, it caught the light of the flames, revealing to her the folds in the metal where the smith had forged it, begging her to appreciate every single one of them for the strength they brought it and in turn brought her.   
  
“ _Gods_ , Morgause, its beautiful,” she whispered, the praise for the gods of the Old Religion falling unnoticed from her lips in her state of wonder. She could not tear her eyes away from the blade. “How much did this-”   
  
“It does not matter,” Morgause cut in, waving away the question. “What matters is that you have something to defend yourself with, something fit for a Queen.” She dropped her head, as if in a bow. “I meant to honour my promise to teach you to how to wield a sword, but that is out of the question for now we both agree. Instead, I give you this, to keep you safe from your foes if I fail to do so.”   
  
Morgana sheathed her dagger and reached out to tilt Morgause’s face back up to meet her eyes, suddenly unable to breathe until she could gaze into their earthy depths. “You could never fail me,” she murmured with certainty, a breath before she caught Morgause’s lips in a kiss as sweet and full of promise for the future as their first. “Never,” she repeated against her knight’s lips. “Never.”   
  
  
...   
  
  
Later, when the candles had all but burned out and the fire was more than half though the wood they had bought with the room, Morgana tied back her hair in a plait that lay damp over her sleep shift and turned to watch to her knight. Morgause had retired to sit and read a book of verse, a gift from Eloise, on the side of the bed in her sleep shirt. The fine cotton was loose on her slight frame and it hung open enough that Morgana could see the silver chain of her pendant dissapearing between the curves of her breasts. A blush crept over her cheeks at the sight and a wave of shivers coursed through her body, making her fingers twitch. The fire inside her that burned for Morgause was blazing brighter and brighter each day, burgeoned by the recent absence of her touch and the dwindling nature of their time alone together. Morgause, conversely, seemed to want to dowse their flames to make the transition to life back at Camelot easier. Morgana couldn’t bear it a second longer.   
  
Crossing the room, she went stand before Morgause, taking the book from her hands to claim her attention.   
  
Morgause lifted her eyes to her Queen, a wry smile on her lips. “Evidently, I am done reading,” she surmised, looking neither disappointed nor irate.  “You should get some sleep. Tomorrow will be another hard day.”   
  
But Morgana only shook her head and reached for one of Morgause’s hands, drawing her with that simple touch, without need to pull, to her feet.   
  
“Do you remember what I once asked of you, here in this place?” Morgana’s voice was soft as melting butter and her eyes were wide and shining. The Queen in her was nowhere to be seen.   
  
Morgause’s attention was on her hand, which Morgana had placed on her waist, just below the curve of her breast. “To not treat you as though you were made of glass,” she remembered, bringing her other hand to match its twin at Morgana’s other side.   
  
“Then honour your promise,” Morgana begged. “Soon we will be parted by stone and steel and other’s eyes, but for now there is nothing between you and me. Do not squander this precious time out of an ill needed attempt to ready us for what is to come. Nothing in this world will soften the blow of our parting, but we will find a way together.”   
  
“We will,” Morgause promised. She would make sure of it. “There is not much I can do for you, Morgana. I cannot give you all the things you want, nor even just the things you need, but I can swear you a solemn oath to love and protect you, no matter the cost.”   
  
Morgana pressed her forehead to Morgause’s and cupped her proud jaw, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I am yours Morgause, my beautiful brave knight. I am yours and I need you like the land needs the sun and desert needs the rain. There are a thousand things I fear in this world and not being with you is the one I fear the most. Right here in the place where I gave you my heart, I need you. I need  _your_ arms around me,  _your_  breath in my body,  _your_  light inside me, never going out. So please, Morgause, do what I know you ache to do and take me, body and soul.”   
  
And the twilight rung with the echoes of a love so perfect that the gods wept and the moon stayed through the dawn to honour them – the Queen and her Champion, the bringers of a new era.


	15. Chapter 15

Time went quickly on the road, far quicker than Morgause had ever known time to pass before. It seemed as though the days were flowing past them like a river rushing towards the sea – appearing to travel twice as fast as they were travelling in opposite directions. Perhaps the metaphorical river would even have its mouth in Mermering? Perhaps not. It was best not think on that place now. Everything there had been so... perfect. She had even managed to convince herself, there whilst she lived and breathed within those white walls, that returning to Camelot would not be so final, so devastating. Now though, now she was beginning to think that the pessimistic part of her had it right all along. To be together in Camelot would be impossible. Every eye in the castle was the King's, no matter how much love they harboured for their Queen. One sword against a thousand was no sort of odds to bet on. Especially, with the sword being Morgause's and the price being Morgana's life.

Still, there was no reason for Morgana to know that. Not for a little while at least. Morgause wouldn't begrudge her one more night inside their bubble. After all, the coming months would be hard on her, and the time after that harder still. She deserved every moment of hope that Morgause could afford to her. Tomorrow, they would walk under the Southern Arch and be once more in the jewel of Camelot's crown, her capital city, where there would be repercussions for them being a day late. For one more night, though, they would be free, and Morgause was intent on enjoying it.

"Are you looking forward to a warm fire?" she asked Morgana, who was bundled up in fur beneath her black velvet travel cloak. She looked so very un-Morgana-like sat astride her horse in so many layers, her silhouette resembling that of the sausages they had breakfasted on back in Carnna. It was enough to bring an amused smile to Morgause's lips, despite the spitting rain.

"I'm looking forward to getting out of these furs," Morgana replied somewhat testily, then turned and smiled sadly at Morgause from under her hood to show that her curtness was not directed at her.

Longing to see Morgana smile properly, Morgause responded, "And I'm looking forward to helping you with that." She got her smile and a pretty blush too.

Morgana quickly recovered. "And here was I thinking that a knight's tongue was supposed to be chivalrous."

"You haven't complained yet." Morgause had chuckle at Morgana's reaction to that; her cheeks pinked to match her lips. She wouldn't have caught what was implied in the jest a month previous, and Morgause wasn't quite sure how she felt about her role in that. Morgana had a point about chivalry. She wasn't sure how her father would view what she had done. Looking on it from the outside, anyone could see that Morgana had been vulnerable – was vulnerable – and that Morgause had been charged with protecting her, not preying on her. The thought sent a shiver down the knight's spine. Had that really been how it was?

"Nor will I," Morgana said after a moment. Her eyes were soft and Morgause was sure that what she saw there amongst the daringness was love. What she had done couldn't be wrong if Morgana loved her, could it?

Lost in that thought, Morgause did not at first hear the sound of approaching hoof beats or the clatter of mail on plate. She was wondering how one could ever know if the one they loved truly loved them back. Only when Morgana's head turned to the fore, her face draining of colour, did she realise that something was amiss and come to hear the din of thundering horses and metal. Fear shot through her – the first response of any knight to being faced with a foe should be fear, her father had taught her – and through her horse too. Then came calmness and her hand on the hilt of her sword. She did not wait to for the men to come into sight to draw her blade. A second of hesitation could cost them their lives.

"Stay close," she ordered Morgana as Dream whinnied and shifted beneath her, unable to stand still, "and if I give you the signal then-"

"Run," Morgana interrupted, her eyes lingering on Morgause's blade. "I remember."

She looked so very young and afraid, and suddenly Morgause remembered watching her parade to the chapel on her wedding day just over two years before. She had been little more than a girl, a child dressed up like a woman, and she had been on her way to Uther's grasp. The memory brought bile into Morgause's throat and she vowed once more to her Queen that she would protect her to the death.

"I know," Morgana said, trying to appear regal and very nearly pulling it off. If it wasn't for the fear showing through, she could have commanded an army. "I believe in you."

Morgause dipped her head in a bow. "I pray that your faith in me is well placed."

She gathered her reins and put herself between Morgana and the quickly approaching band of Gods-knew-who. If it were battle, she would ride out to meet her foes, but that would leave Morgana vulnerable to attack. The trees on both sides of the road gave her enough concern. There was no need to add extra risk to their already seemingly hopeless situation. From the sound of it there were at least a dozen mailed and plated men riding their way. Morgause's own armour might match or even surpass theirs. That wouldn't matter now. Numbers mattered, and they were squarely against her. A prayer to Andraste passed her lips. It wasn't her life that she prayed for, not anymore. Now all that she asked was that if the worst came to the worst, she would be able to buy Morgana enough time.

But when the approaching horses pounded around the corner, bursting into sight in a flurry of crimson and gold, they had not come for their lives and gold. The column of a dozen riders were knights. Better than that, they were Knights of Camelot - her brothers in arms - led by the their commander, Camelot's champion – Sir Leon, her friend. She almost cried from the relief. Instead, she closed her eyes and murmured a devotion to the goddess who had answered her prayed. " _Icþancieþē_."  _Thank you._

Sir Leon, his piercing steel eyes pinched and wary, raised his hand, bringing his knights to a stop. When the welcome she expected did not come, Morgause realised that, with them being hooded, he did not recognise his Queen and her champion.

"In the name of Camelot, I demand to know who goes there." His voice was as strong and commanding as ever across the cavern of space between them.

Before Morgause could open her mouth to identify them, Morgana rode past her. Curious, she held her tongue and watched as Morgana's Nightmare broke into a collected canter to carry her mistress gracefully to the midpoint between Camelot's champion and her own. Morgana held her head bowed, meek.

"Who goes there?" Leon repeated, his knights whispering behind him.

An elegant white hand, weightless beneath the heavy velvet bell of its sleeve, reached upwards to push back Morgana's black hood. And the knights fell silent, bowing their heads for their Queen.

"Your Majesty, I..." Leon broke off and bowed his head. "I apologise. We were sent to seek you."

"Because I was day behind schedule?" Morgana asked, the stronger, bolder Queen she had become asserting herself over her knights. She shook out her hair, black against black, enrapturing all who looked upon her. "Tell me, are there no more important tasks for the Knights of Camelot to be undertaking? Are there not townsfolk back at Camelot unguarded? Lands neglected a patrol?"

"His Majesty was concerned," Leon answered diplomatically, his eyes downcast.

Morgana sighed, clearly irritated. "When did he send you?"

"Evenfall last, Your Majesty," Leon replied as Morgause fell in beside and slightly behind Morgana, keeping a respectful distance.

"And he sent our First Company? I should be honoured. But I fear I feel it more as an insult to my own champion. After all, she beat all but you at the tournament, did she not? Surely, after you Sir Leon, she is to be most trusted with my life?"

Heat rose up the back of Morgause's neck. She was afraid that Morgana's new confidence would take her too far from the thin line that the King would have her tread.

"I do not question orders, Your Majesty," Leon said tentatively, conflicted. "I just follow them."

Taking pity on him, Morgana softened her voice. "I understand that. If it were you, though, whose hands would you put all of our lives in?" Before Sir Leon could answer, she added a caveat. "You cannot turn to religion for your answer as our King would have you do."

"Then I would say, without hesitation, Your Majesty, that I would concur with you and leave our lives in your champion's hands."

Morgana smiled at that, a true smile which Morgause feared would one day give them away. "You have always been more reliant on your head than your sword arm, Sir. It has continued to serve you well."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. And if it pleases you, I would wish to return the compliment. You are a wise and kind Queen." He raised his eyes. "Camelot, she had deeply missed you."

"And I have missed her," Morgana lied. She was proficient at that, Morgause had observed, lying for the benefit of others. It made her wonder whether Morgana had ever lied to her, or if she would ever be able to tell if she was. "Come, let us turn for home. I am weary of travel and want no further nights than tonight under the stars, a beautiful as they are."

Leon bowed his head once more. "Of course, Your Majesty."

 

...

 

Darkness had been setting in earlier and earlier each night, far too early for the time of year. It was as if winter was coming too soon, seizing on the feel of unease in the air and crawling out from the darkness deep down in the earth to make the misery flourish and grow. Even the enormous fire that the knights had built was not enough to chase the ice from Morgana's bones, no matter how near to it she sat. The closer they got to Camelot, the colder she felt. Not true coldness, not the kind of cold you get from standing too long in a snowstorm or staying in the bath too long, but a kind of dread that something was coming. If she was honest, it had started the moment she left her aunt, but she hadn't truly noticed it until the flash of Morgause's sword had yanked her night time terrors into the day and made real everything else she had been dreading. It was the soaring eagle, a symbol of freedom engraved on Morgause's blade that she had never before noticed. She had seen that sword in her dreams, running with its wielder's blood.

But it was only a dream. She had swung that sword herself and had doubtless seen the adornment before on half a hundred occasions since Morgause had walked into her life. It was the only explanation.

Putting it from her mind, she watched distantly as Sir Percival – the winner of every mixed combat mêlée since Morgana had been wed – cut down and split two young oaks, before fashioning from them twin pairs of benches to seat their company. The other knights had been ordered off on various missions, fetching water and wood, game and fowl. Morgause had been eager to join Sir Gwaine and his squire in the hunt. There had been no fletcher in Mermering and she had used the last of her arrows on the journey there. So Morgana had been left alone in the camp with Leon and Percival working around her. Not for the first time, she felt utterly useless.

"Are you cold Your Majesty?" Percival asked, dumping some wood in the rapidly growing pile and coming around the fire to stand before Morgana. He wasn't like the other knights. He didn't treat differently because of who she was. Morgana liked that.

"A little," she admitted.

He smiled. "Get up then."

When she rose to her feet and moved out of the way as he gestured, he bent down to the half-trunk bench she had been sat on and dragged it closer to the fire with as little effort as if it had been a twig. Rubbing his hands off on his breeches, he straightened and smiled again. "Anything else?"

She laughed, and Leon shot them a concerned look.

"Not poaching another of our best knights are you, Your Majesty?" the commander asked with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. It occurred to Morgana that his face seemed to have weathered ten years in the month she had been away.

"One is quite enough," Morgana said playfully, gracefully retaking her seat. "And besides, I do not have anywhere to put him." She squinted her eyes at Percival, as if measuring him up. "I do not think he would quite fit in my pantry come store cupboard."

Both knights laughed.

"I don't doubt that I wouldn't," Percival agreed. There was something in the glint in his eyes that made Morgana suspect that he had caught her forlornness and was trying to cheer her up.

"You wouldn't what?" Gwaine asked, strolling back into the clearing with a pair of rabbits dangling from his bow hand. His squire, a young boy whose name Morgana could not recall, was hurrying after him with a plump golden pheasant carrying more meat on it than the two rabbits put together.

"Live in the Queen's pantry," Percival answered nonchalantly.

Morgause, who came out of the twilight shadows at that very moment, frowned in confused amusement. She met Morgana's eyes briefly, before dropping her head to hide the twist of a smile.

"A golden pheasant, Gwaine?" Leon asked, gesturing to the bird in the boy's hands. "You know it is forbidden for anyone but a royal to fell them? The King would be furious."

"The King will not find out," Morgana put in helpfully. She liked Gwaine too. He was from the land she had been born in, though much further south than she had ever been. As far as she knew, his father had been in her father's battalion and had been killed in the same battle. Of the rest of his family she knew nothing. He was older than her by half a decade at least, but he stolen a kiss from her when she was no more than fourteen and unaware of how the world worked. If she had ever told Uther, Gwaine would have lost his head. And as unwelcome as his kiss had been, he did not deserve that.

"Don't shoot your death glare at me, commander. I think you'll find that I am innocent of this particular crime. Blame your girl back there," he nodded back to Morgause, "she was the one who shot it out of the sky, not me."

Percival snorted. "They've got you there, Leon. Morgause fights with our Queen's hand. It only stands to reason that she hunts with it too."

"Eye, so all is well with the world," Gwaine intoned with a wink to his Queen. "No golden pheasants were snatched from this life by any hands but royal ones."

Morgause smiled but said nothing, standing off to the side and watching her brothers' banter. In the light of the fire, her armour glittered as gold as her hair, the flickering flames reflecting in her polished pauldrons and dancing over her belted hauberk. Next to her knights, Morgause looked not slighter and smaller as Morgana might have anticipated, but proud and tall. For the first time, Morgana thought she understood the camaraderie between knights. They were truly family, their strength greater together than the sum of their parts. For a heartbeat, she was jealous.

 

 

...

 

 

From the moment Morgana had risen, excused herself and made a point of not looking her way, Morgause knew she was supposed to follow her. The intent was in what was not done or said, as was so often the case with her quiet Queen.

With a word to Leon, she rose from the bench beside him and edged around the fire, heading for the dark breath between the trees into which Morgana had disappeared. As she left the light and warmth of the clearing, the darkness drew her on. It lead her forward until the blackness yielded to the silvery light off a small still pool weaving around the roots of an ancient oak. Standing on the wide flat flare of a root amidst it, her hair as black as the night and her skin as silver as the water, Morgana looked a goddess. Her head was bowed and her hands clasped simply in front of her. Morgana had shrugged out of her dress and discarded her boots, leaving her in nothing but her clingy sleeveless white shift. Morgause's breath caught. Little as she liked to admit it to herself, seeing Morgana looking so innocent and helpless made her desire flare.

When Morgana lifted her head, the flush of pink on her cheeks and lips the only colour on her, Morgause all but forgot she need breathe at all.

Urged on by Morgana's silence, Morgause crossed the hushed clearing, stopping only when she reached the water's edge. Looking down to her left, she saw Morgana's discarded clothing, and felt her own hands move up to loosen the leather straps of her plate. Slowly, she laid her armour to her right, piling it together with her mail and boots until all she stood in were her tight fitting breeches and loose undershirt. When she was done, she looked back to Morgana and stepped into the water.

Beneath her feet, cool white earth shifted and swilled into the once clear water, leaving clouds swelling in her wake. Through the water she walked, until she met the incline of a root and stepped up next to Morgana, slipping one arm around her back and pulling her flush against her.

"We are playing with danger, my love," she whispered, flaring open her hand on the hollow of Morgana's lower back.

"They will not follow us. I told Sir Percival I felt unwell, made sure he felt... uncomfortable. He was too embarrassed to ask what was wrong." There was a wicked glint in her eye that was gone as soon as it appeared.

"And what if they do follow us?" Morgause was uneasy, but finding it hard to refuse.

"Then we run," Morgana said simply, the night time wind shifting her midnight hair. "But they will not. They have more faith in you than Uther does and will not chance catching their Queen unaware."

Despite her doubts, Morgause found herself pressing Morgana back against the oak, making her Queen gasp and clutch at her.

"I am yours," Morgana reminded her, pliant and moonlight pale. "For one more night I want to be  _yours alone_ ," she whispered, her cool hand at Morgause's cheek.

Leaning close to breathe her in, Morgause murmured, "You will always be mine.  _Only mine_."

Morgana shivered and Morgause pressed harder against her, slipping one breeches-clad leg between Morgana's and raising it up, and up.

"Gods," Morgana cried delicately, laying the palm of her hand flat against the plane of skin beneath Morgause's clavicle. Her other hand, she tightened on Morgause's toned arm, wondering vaguely when exactly laying with her knight had become prayer, and how she had ever lived without its worship.

Dropping her hand from Morgana's back to the generous curve of her hip, Morgause began to hoist up her wispy shift until her fingers met with the warm soft skin of Morgana's thigh.

"When the Gods fashioned you, they did so with no mercy for my soul," Morgause breathed against the shell of her ear, delighting in Morgana's answering shiver.

"Please," Morgana pleaded breathily, "please, I-"

Morgause cut her off with a kiss. A Queen should never beg.

Their lips danced slowly and needily, Morgana's mouth opening up and yielding to her knight, taking her inside and –  _oh_ ,  _Gods_.

Dropping Morgana's shift over her questing hand, Morgause began to stroke inwards, the gentle touches parting Morgana's thighs more satisfyingly than force ever could. With a trail of kisses that lead down her Queen's fine proud jaw, downwards onto the marble column of her neck and hovered at her favourite spot where neck arched to delicate shoulder, Morgause's hand reached the inside of Morgana's thigh. Gently, she slipped it between, a moan catching in her throat when she found her, as always, weeping for her.

That night, Morgause took her as slow as she dared, caressing her to the edge of oblivion and holding her there – slick and warm and soft and  _hers_. Only when Morgana opened her mouth to beg did Morgause push her over the edge, sending her trembling and crying into the void. Morgana sagged wearily against her, her young body drained and flushed. With that one last joining, Morgause wrote her love onto Morgana's skin, tracing it over firm and giving flesh alike, filling her and overwhelming her.

"I love you too," Morgana mumbled in her afterglow, her eyelids heavy. She was held up by no strength of her own, but instead by the tree at her back and Morgause at her front. A gold tanned hand smoothed up and over her hip, dipping into the curve of her waist and up to fill its palm with one of her firm rounded breasts.

"Soon I shall barely recognise you," Morgause whispered a little sadly. "I find you ripening day by day, swelling and rounding, filling up with life." A shiver ran through her. She could not decide how she felt about that, not truly. It made Morgana happy – she could not feel anything but gratitude for that. And too, it made her more beautiful every day, as impossible as Morgause would have believed that.

"But yours still," Morgana promised. She had lost the fight to keep her eyes open and, instead, opted to lay her head on Morgause's chest, smiling when Morgause's free hand came up to stroke her hair. "Only and always yours. I promise."

She did not see the sadness in Morgause's eyes, or the tears that threatened to spill out. She did not see that her brave knight had given up hope of them being able to carry on togther. "I know, my love, I know."

 

...

 

Upon their return to camp, they found the all the knights but Leon asleep. They slept it pairs – a formation, Morgause knew, that Morgana's father had designed in Camelot's last Great War. With another knight by your side, you could not so easily have your throat slit as you slept. They said that the innovation had saved the lives of a hundred and half knights the night that the south men attacked. And though they had mostly been slain the next day, it had won Camelot her freedom and the first Wilde knighthood.

"Good night, Your Majesty," Morgause said to the woman she had spent half the night loving, bowing her head respectfully. The words almost stuck in her throat but she would never not gladly bow to her.

"And you," Morgana bid with longing eyes, "my champion."

It would not be out of place for her take Morgana's hand and kiss it, so she did.

"Sleep well, Your Majesty," Leon bid her in a strong quiet voice. "And if you are in need of anything in the night, whoever is on watch will provide it, or wake someone who can."

"Thank you, Sir," Morgana said with the graciousness of a Queen. "And you must thank your men again for giving up their furs for me, though I was quite alright with what I had."

"They were honoured to sacrifice even such a small thing for their Queen."

Smiling sleepily, Morgana nodded and slipped beneath her furs. She was asleep in seconds.

Morgause, unsure as to whether her place should be near Morgana, to protect her, chose instead to sit watch with her commander. She sat down beside him and settled in for the night. Both of them knew that the other would not give up the watch.

"How do you do it?" Leon asked after a while. "I am tense as a notched bow with Her Majesty under my care."

"With constant fear that I am unworthy and unable to properly protect her," Morgause admitted. "Though, she makes it easy. There has not yet been a day when she has put less than all of her faith in me."

"I can tell," Leon said with what was almost a smile. "The day you fought for in the tournament, I... I had never seen you fight like that before. Her favour gave you a passion to win and a strength of conviction that I could not match. It was only my superior weight behind my slashes that did it." His gaze was on Morgana. "Camelot herself, though graciously appreciative of me in my victory, was behind you. They love our Queen and have come to love her champion too. You should see the number of half-grown girls begging to join our number. And there many more men of age too than the knights have had since the Age of Rome. They see you as the protector of Camelot's heart and wish to be of service to her like you are."

_They would not if they knew the truth_ , Morgause thought,  _the Knights of Camelot would be shamed._

Silence fell.

"You were gone so long that I almost sent out a search," Leon said after a long while. "Has the journey taken its toll on her? We have heard word of a contagion passing between the women and children along the shore."

"We have seen none of it. Her Majesty is in perfect health. Though she  _is_  taxed and soon, after the king is told, you will no doubt be told too. Everyone will," Morgause said as plainly as she dared. It was not so unlikely to an unwed man such as Leon that a woman in Morgana's condition might be so periodically unwell that she needed privacy for a few hours. The First Company of Knights, Sir Cormick excluded, were all unmarried and devoted to their duty. Though, most had fathered bastards on tavern wenches and carpenters daughters. Leon, though, was honourable to the core and would never indulge in such folly. Surprisingly, Gwaine was the same, despite frequenting the taverns.

Leon nodded as if he understood. Morgause wished she could tell him the truth.

"How are things at court and in the town?" she asked, changing the subject to save them both. "I have heard whispers on the road."

Leon sighed. "Not good. There is increasing unrest in the east and south, of course. And with the short summer and cold spring bringing a poor harvest, Camelot is starting to put on rations."

"But the trade deal with the northern lands had been sealed. What happened?"

"Our King bedded King Edwin's maiden daughter," Leon answered. "We will get no help from the north."

Morgause bit her tongue.

"Then all hopes rest on you and our tournament." She looked once more over to their peacefully sleeping Queen. "And on her, though she does not yet know it."


	16. Chapter 16

Burningly-cold shivers scuttled over Morgana’s shoulders and down her back like beetles, despite her overly generous covering of furs. She knew that she looked absurd but Morgause had only laughed and whispered against her lips behind the cover of a dozen trees that she looked like a bear cub. Morgana hadn’t known whether to take that as a complement or not. In lieu of a decision, she had smiled. Morgause had said it sweet enough. She did not suppose that her fair knight would say anything to hurt her. Not again. She had promised. Then again, Morgana had been promised sweet things before and gotten only heartache and bruises.

At the thought of Uther, her heart quickened – quickened with every step of her horse that carried her closer and closer to Camelot. Her breaths were short and shallow, never reaching the depths of her lungs, never satisfying her need for air. Camelot’s walls were his crushing embrace, too hard and never yielding. In Camelot she would once again be a captive Queen. For he was Camelot and Camelot was him, and being within her dear city meant being at the mercy of its King. Something deep inside was screaming for her to gather her reins, dig in her heels and turn for the sea. Only with salty spray on her face and wealth of land between her and her King at her back, would she be able to breathe again. Sadly, it was not an impulse that she could indulge.

When the rush to flee threatened to overwhelm her, she turned to her right side to where Morgause rode tall and strong. There was a cold wind rippling through her golden hair and a pinking of her cheeks where the ice of the morning burned them. Her eyes were damp from the harshness of the air and, as she blinked against it, her eyelashes brushed gently against the rosé of her cheeks. As she was returning to her dear city, she was garbed for the first time in a long while in the full finery of a Knight of Camelot, her Pendragon cloak fanning out behind her like a great pair of crimson wings. It should have sent foul shivers down Morgana’s spine, but there was the flash of a chain at Morgause’s neck, falling down to where Le Fay green ruled over her heart. That alone was enough to settle her distaste at the patriotism. But even though Morgause looked more beautiful and more powerful in that moment than Morgana had ever seen her, not even her breath-stealing visage could bring calm to the Queen’s fearful heart.

When she turned back her eyes to the fore, she found Camelot’s Southern Arch swelling up from the land. Despite her fear, she felt a stirring low in her belly – she was coming home. Beyond that stone arch was Uther, but there was someone else waiting for her, someone who could eclipse all of the King’s wickedness with a single true smile.  Her Gwen. Her Guinevere – a girl so much dearer to her than she could have imagined when they met as children, young and innocent. She was closer to Morgana than the sister she never had, more like a part of herself than another person, even as she was as different to Morgana as night was from the day. Morgana had never missed anyone as fiercely as she had missed her that past month. Not since her father had died had she felt such longing for the missing person by her side, the person with whom she wished to share every passing thought. And in the time she had been gone, there had been far more than just passing thoughts trailing through her mind. She had so much to tell her. So much good and so much that she were unsure that she should tell her at all – the things about Morgause, about sweet kiss in the night; the burning fire of the tavern room; the smooth white stone of Mermering; and the cool wind beside the spring on the island.

“Your people are out on the streets, Your Majesty,” Sir Leon called over the wind from her left, pulling her from her thoughts. Their scout, the young squire, had ridden back to his commander’s side with word of the gathering in the city. “They have been eagerly awaiting your return.”

“I suppose that my absence has not gone as unnoticed as my King would have hoped,” Morgana answered with a polite, if not entirely sincere, smile. She loved her people, but their attentions were tiring sometimes. She felt the expectations of every one of them resting on her shoulders and with the added weight an heir, she was afraid she would not be able to bear it.

“He cannot truly have thought that he could deceive our fair city as to your whereabouts for a whole month,” Morgause put in. Her words came surprisingly clearly to Morgana’s ear, as if she were speaking to her under the wind instead of over it. “Word of our Queen’s departure will have reached every kitchen fire the moment she put your heel to her horse’s flank.”

Morgana could not disagree.

“We shall need to make a stop so that I may shed my furs. It would not do for me to turn up looking like this,” she mused, as if even the thought of it was preposterous. She had, of course, thought this was a possibility, and had donned one of her finest gowns that morning. If she was to be paraded, then she would do so in the finery they would expect of their Queen. It was, after all, her duty.

The Commander nodded, “As you wish, Your Highness.”

As one, at Leon’s whistle, the knights circled her, manoeuvring their horses around her in a practiced formation, turning out to give her privacy and protection. For a moment, she felt quite alone, but then Morgause appeared through the slim gap between Leon and Gwaine and slipped from her horse with the grace of a doe. Morgana’s breath caught when Morgause reached her side and she realised, as she looked down at her, that in her gown, she was unable to dismount on her own. It was, of course, why she was riding side saddle. A flush crept up her neck.

“Your Highness,” Morgause murmured with a bow of her head, slowly raising her eyes to see Morgana’s answering nod. Permission granted, she reached up to put her hands to Morgana’s waist and, when her Queen pushed off, guided her smoothly to the ground. Fleetingly, her hands lingered.

Suddenly shy, Morgana slid off her furs and let Morgause bind them with a leather strap to the back of her saddle. The morning air washed over her like cold water, chilling her to the core. She shot a nervous look around to her protectors.

“Here,” Morgause whispered, stepping closer to rub the chill from her arms. “Let’s fix you for your people,” she whispered with a kind smile. And so Morgana stood rather stiffly and let her hitch down her skirt and fix her wind-ruffled hair into tight plaits that ran in parallel from her temples and joined at the base of her neck in a twisting bun. As Morgause worked, Morgana could not help but feel her cool skin heat wherever her knight’s fingers brushed it. The flush rose to her cheeks.

“You should take the rest of the day off,” she said impulsively, glad that the knights could not see her blush.

“What about...” Morgause lowered her voice. “What about telling Uther of the babe? I should not leave you.”

“I shall be fine,” Morgana insisted, hopeful that Morgause could not see the worry in her eyes. “He is my husband.” She swallowed. “He has been waiting for this for a long time.”

A flutter of a frown ghosted across Morgause’s face and was gone. “As you wish, Your Majesty. You, of course, know best.”

“You have family to see,” Morgana insisted. “I will have you back by my side soon enough, do not worry about that.” Boldly, she reached out to straighten Morgause’s cape over her shoulders, brushing out the creases. In a voice that was barely a whisper, she promised, “I would die, I know, if I were forced to spend more than a night parted from you.” Taking her voice down even quieter, she murmured, “I want so much to kiss you. Not being able to do so is the most exquisite torture I have ever faced. Come to me tonight and end my torment, I beg of you.”

“Nothing on this earth could keep me away.”

 

 

...

 

 

On entering her chambers and slowly pushing closed the heavy wooden door, the sight of Gwen –gazing out the window, silhouetted in a shaft of midday sun – took Morgana’s breath quite away.  She was struck in that moment by how oddly empty her life had been without her. Even with Morgause to fill her with new and wondrous joy, she had been incomplete.

Gwen turned – her eyes wide and eager – and smiled joyfully bright.

“Your Majesty,” she gasped.

“Morgana,” the lady in question insisted, tears spilling down her cheeks as she gathered her skirts and ran to her maid. When she reached her, she threw her arms around her neck and buried her face in her soft black curls, breathing in the scent of soap and sweetness that always reminded her of the flaky custard tarts she had as a child in Mermering. “For you, Gwen, it is ’Morgana’, always.”

“I have missed you,” Gwen whispered, tucking her chin over Morgana’s shoulder and wrapping her in a tight hug, her whole body tingling. She rubbed her hand up the smooth silk of Morgana’s back and squeezed the warm skin where her neck flared to meet her shoulder.

Morgana closed her eyes and held her firmer, her tears still flowing. “And I have missed  _you!_  You know, I do believe that you give the best hugs that I have ever had.”

Gwen laughed, pulling back. “I very much doubt that.”

“You mustn’t, for it is true,” Morgana insisted, biting her lip and smiling. “You are so very important to me. You do know that, do you not?”

Gwen’s cheeks darkened and she reached up to dry Morgana’s tears with the cuff of her sleeve. “I do, though I do not quite know why.”

“A hundred thousand reasons. All of which makes you my family. You are my very closest companion – that will never change.” She caught Gwen’s hand as it left her cheek. “That is why I need you to be the first person in Camelot to whom I tell this.”

Gwen frowned in confusion, “Tell wha-”

The words caught in her throat when Morgana laid Gwen’s hand that she had captured flat upon her stomach. There Gwen felt the barest swell of a broad curve that had not been there before.

Her eyes went wide. “Morgana, you are... But this cannot be right – surely if it were this then you would first have told-”

“Morgause I told first, then my Aunt and now you,” Morgana clarified, holding Gwen’s hand in place. “In the quiet of my chambers, I choose to tell you. And you would have been the first if you had been closer – before him, at any rate.”

It was Gwen’s turn to weep, a single tear running down each cheek. She dropped her gaze and flexed her fingers over Morgana’s abdomen, wonder blurring her vision. “A babe,” she whispered.

 “Yes.” Morgana smiled almost bashfully, the light of a summer afternoon blooming in her eyes. “So I shall need you more keenly than I have ever before. Both of us will.” She bowed her head. “I need to ask you, will you help us?”

That smile, Gwen found, was contagious. “Just you see if anyone could keep me away.”

 

 

…

 

 

“Aunt Morgause!”

The air was knocked from Morgause’s lungs the second she stepped over the threshold of her uncle’s house as her young cousin barrelled into her, his little arms barely making it halfway around her middle. She looked down at him, finding his eyes closed contentedly and his cheek pressed flat against her mail. Taking his shoulders, she drew him out to arms length and frowned at him.

“Who is this then? He cannot be my Tristan, for he is only a  _little_  boy. This boy is almost big enough to be a knight!” Morgause exclaimed, hands still on his shoulders.

“It is me, Aunt,  _it is_!” Tristan shouted, jumping up and down excitedly. He and his sister had called her their aunt ever since they had learnt to speak. She was obviously far too old for them to rationalise her being their cousin, her Uncle had joked.

Morgause raised her eyebrow and narrowed her eyes. “I do not know...”

“I am! Tell him Father,” Tristan insisted giddily, whirling away to plead with his father for backup.

Lifting her eyes, Morgause found her uncle – a kindly man only five years older than Morgause herself. He looked more and more like her father every time she saw him. For a moment it startled her. Regaining her composure, she asked, “What do you say Rivalen?”

Her uncle squinted at the boy, an amused smile twitching the corners of his lips. “Aye, it’s him, Morg.”

Tristan nodded vigorously. “I grew. You have been gone  _forever_.”

Morgause winked at him and ruffled his sandy-blond hair. “Well, how about that. It seems you are Tristan after all. Where is your sister?”

The boy’s face paled. “Ellie’s sick again.”

Worry flashed through Morgause and she looked again to her uncle. She saw now that the lines on his face had deepened and that his eyes were red – he had been crying – and he looked as though he had aged a decade in the few short weeks that she had been away. He held her gaze for a moment before looking away.

Turning back to her cousin, Morgause put on a brave face and smiled, crouching down to meet him. “Do you remember where I said that I was going?”

He shook his head, eyes wide and shiny with fear for his sister.

“Do you remember that I am the Queen’s guard now?” she began. He nodded. “Her majesty has an aunt, just like you have me. Only her aunt lives far away and she had not seen her for a very long time.”

“And you took her to see her?” The little boy asked, hugging himself and fidgeting with his feet. “Mother lived near the mountains when she was small – she tells us stories about them. Did you see the mountains?”

“I did see the mountains. I even climbed over one.”

 “A  _real_  mountain?” Tristan asked, awed. “Not even mother has stories of climbing them, they’re so  _big_!”

“Gargantuan,” Morgause confirmed. “And after that, we went to the sea.”

Tristan’s eyes went wide and his little mouth fell open. “Truly?”

Morgause reached into her pocked and pulled out an ivory shell, placing it in Tristan’s fingers. “Truly.”

“Look Father,” the boy said excitedly, turning to his father and holding up the shell. “Aunt Morgause went to the sea!”

“Isn’t that something,” Rivalen smiled. “Why don’t you go and show your sister?”

Tristan looked from his Father to Morgause and nodded, before running off up the stairs to the room he shared with his sister.

“He has missed you,” Rivalen told his niece, crossing to give her a hug. “We all have. I wanted to send word to you when Ellie took ill but Flor persuaded me to leave you be. It would not get you home any faster and there was nowhere to send a letter to with you on the road, she reasoned.”

“What happed?”

“She had one of her turns when she was playing with Tommy Miller near the wall. Poor lad, he’s almost a foot shorter than her but he seemed to have the strength of a giant that day. He carried her all the way home to us, as though she weighed nothing more than a feather.” Rivalen sighed. “She has had a fever ever since. Mrs. Rush says that she has never seen the like before. She doesn’t know what she can do for her.”

Morgause’s heart sank. “When did it happen?”

“A week and a half passed,” a young flaxen-haired woman said softly, walking into the light of the room, her arms wrapped around her middle just as her son had minutes earlier. Blancheflor was even younger than her husband. She was of an age with Morgause and had been schooled with her as a child. At one time Morgause had even taken a liking to her, but Flor was already engaged by then and Morgause loved her uncle too much to even think of interfering.

She smiled sadly at her old friend and drew her into a brief hug. “You were right, but I wish you had sent word.”

Flor shook her head. “All that would achieve would be making you worry yet be able to do nothing about it.”

“I could have been here for you all,” Morgause sighed.

“And abandon our Queen, nonsense. None of us here will complain of coming second to Her Majesty in your priorities,” Flor assured her, even and reasonable as always. “Even if you had come back, there was nothing you could have done, as there still is not.”

Morgause thought on her Queen. “That may not be entirely true.”

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

Morgana sighed contentedly and sunk deeper into the warm water. She had loved the vast baths at Mermering, but there was something comforting about reclining in her own tin bath – the one she had been bathing in since she was a child. Bath times then had been an excuse to break down the barriers of propriety between her and Gwen – her splashing her maid and Gwen predictably joining her in the dwindling water, splashing the young ward back. Gwen had gotten a lashing for it when the head maid had found out, but that hadn’t put an end to their fun. Morgana had gotten the stuffy old woman fired for it. No one hurt her Gwen and got away with it. In those days, Uther had never refused her a thing, and she had taken full advantage.

“Enjoying being pampered?” Gwen asked with a contentedly warm smile. She was sat on a small stool at the end of the bath, running her fingers through Morgana’s hair, working in the luxury sandalwood oil that only ever came out of its cupboard on special occasions. Morgana’s return and happy news was most definitely a special occasion.

“Mmmm...” Morgana moaned, her eyes closing as Gwen’s practiced fingers moved to her scalp. “Most definitely.”

“It is well deserved. You need to rest after your long journey north.” Gwen slipped her hands down Morgana’s neck to her shoulders. “Your muscles are so tense.”

“I was in need of you,” Morgana smiled, her eyes still closed, “to soothe them. It seems that I am not made for riding all day.”

Gwen made an agreeable sound and slid her hands back into Morgana’s hair. “I did not know what to do with myself with you gone. The castle was so quiet.”

“I hope that Emilie kept you occupied for the last week at least?” Morgana asked.  “How is she doing? She showed promise at Mermering and her family has served mine for generations.”

“She is eager to learn, although inexperienced. What is it that you have in mind for her exactly?” Gwen asked a little warily. She took away her hands, her fingers tingling from their work. “Have – Have I been lacking in some way?”

Morgana’s eyes flew open and she pushed herself up in the water, sloshing some over the sides in her eagerness to put Gwen right. She twisted to face Gwen and reached out a wet hand to clasp together her hands. “You mustn’t think that. I only selfishly sought to keep you closer. I want you to have the time, when the babe is here, to help me look after him. Emilie will see to chores such as fetching laundry and cleaning. If I have one thing to complain about it is that you look after me too well. I found out to my peril this last month that I am quite incapable without you.”

Gwen smiled indulgently. “If you say so, my lady.”

The old title made Morgana smile, even as it was only a slip of the tongue. Things had been so much simpler back when she had only been Lady Morgana, the King’s ward. Gwen was her only real link to that time, when her whole world had consisted of the castle, its festivities and Gwen’s hushed and comforting tones. She had not known how lucky she had been.

“There is something else I wish to tell you,” Morgana said impulsively, not knowing that she had been about to say it until the words were falling from her mouth. “It is not something that you should know lightly, and I will not force the knowledge upon you. You could never breathe a word of it.”

“Tell me,” Gwen implored instantly - calm, with not so much as a flicker of hesitation.

Suddenly nervous of how Gwen might react, Morgana paused. “I – I should not have said anything. It would be unfair to-”

“You can  _trust_  me, Morgana. You know that I will take every confidence you afford me to my grave,” Gwen insisted, taking her hands from Morgana’s and using them to brush away the wet hair from her worried eyes.

“It is not a matter of trust. It is a matter of endangering you, of putting you in an impossible situation,” Morgana murmured in a low voice. “What I have to tell you is treasonous. More than that, it is not...”

“You could not put me in an impossible situation, no matter what you did or said. My loyalty is and always will be to you,” Gwen said resolutely, blushing a little as she did, but remaining steadfast. “You say that I must surely know what I mean to you. If so, then surely you must see that you are  _everything_  to me.” She took a deep steadying breath and looked deep into Morgana’s eyes, which were, as always, full of worry. “ _Tell me_.”

Morgana glanced towards the door, as if to check it was still shut.

“Is it about Morgause?” Gwen asked softly.

Morgana turned back to her and nodded, droplets of water falling from the ends of her hair. “Something happened on the road to Mermering.” She paused and Gwen nodded for her to continue. “I had suffered one of my nightmares and she comforted me so sweetly and... she kissed me like he has never kissed me – so gentle and gallant. What I feel for her – what I’ve felt from the moment I met her – is nothing like I have felt before.  I know that being with her is betrayal but-”

“You are happy with her?” Gwen interrupted. She already knew the answer. She had seen it the first day that the Queen had met Morgause.

“I am,” Morgana said quietly.

Gwen’s worried expression grew serene. “Then tell me everything. We have never kept secrets from one another. I for one do not intend to start doing so now.”

“Everything?” Morgana asked, hesitant.

Gwen laughed and brushed a drop of water off Morgana’s cheek. “Everything you wish to tell me.”

Morgana’s eyes lit up and she nodded. “ _Everything_.”


	17. Chapter 17

The journey to Uther’s rooms seemed as long for Morgana as it always did. She seldom made the trip unsummoned and never without a sense of trepidation. From the great spiralling steps she descended, her slipper-clad feet silent on the cold stone. Walking the long hallway edged on one side with the castle’s beautiful hidden garden was not as sweet as it should have been and she found herself reflecting upon the woman who had commissioned it, now two long decades dead. Had she once been so full of confliction on her way to tell her husband of the child she carried? No. She had loved him.

The lightness Gwen had set in Morgana’s heart was failing her. Her head insisted that the King would be pleased with her news, he had to be. He had spent the days since their wedding silently shaming her for not giving him the heir that all of Camelot craved and most every night endeavouring to make her hold true to the vows she had made. She had been poked and prodded twice yearly by a specialist physician from Maidenpool – an irony that was not lost on Morgana – and though he had found nothing wrong with her, she had known that Uther’s doubts were beginning to garner wider attention. All of that dictated that he would be thrilled with her news, but somehow her nerves would not settle. Alas, the feeling was not unfamiliar.

After her bath, she had lain out bare before the fire to let its warmth dry her, her eyes closed and the sound of a lilting ballad whispered beneath Gwen’s breath soothing her into that perfect place between sleep and wakefulness. Gwen had roused her after a while and led her to her dresser where she brushed Morgana’s hair until it shone, easy confessions falling from Morgana’s lips. When she was done, she anointed Morgana’s skin with almond oil and bound her body in a gown of royal blue silk edged in spun-silver thread. She had made it whilst Morgana had been away, knowing the curves and hollows to sew into the fabric by heart. It fit like a glove, soft and pliant as a second skin, but taut over her navel. Morgana had pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek and begged forgiveness that it would soon need to be retired. Gwen had only smiled, blushed and promised to send Emilie out to buy more Persian silk when the merchant came to the city the following week – Morgana would only have the finest now, she insisted, her eyes full of adoration.

“Your Majesty,” the twin guards at Uther’s door greeted in chorus, bowing their heads to her and uncrossing their spears.

“I am expected,” Morgana said softly, looking first at one and then at the other, taking care to acknowledge both. Uther may not see them as people to be recognized as such, but Morgana was long used to making up for the inadequacies of her King.

The guard to her left broke from his salute to open the door, announcing her arrival, titles and all. She did not object to the King being reminded that she too had some small amount of power. And as she had reflected on in Mermering, she now had power over him too, if only she could find the courage to wield it.

“Your Majesty,” she breathed, her bow no more than a downward casting of her eyes and the slightest inclination of her head.

The King was sat at his table, a picked clean to the bone pheasant and an empty golden goblet before him – decadent as always.

He nodded his greeting, not returning her courtesy, but instead ineffectually sucking the grease from his fingers. In contrast to his ill manners, he was dressed as finely as she was. His doublet was of crimson silk, his breeches of pitch and his jewels being solid gold and rubies. The sword laid on the table at his side was an ornamental one. Morgana wondered, briefly, whether Morgause’s could better it. There was gold in Uther’s sword, she knew, to make it gleam. Gold could be as soft as butter if faced with a sharp enough blade.

 “You are late. Two days.”

“I am,” she confirmed with a single nod, doing her best to look a little contrite. “I set a slower pace for my return. I thought it would be wise.”

 “Unwise?” He demanded predictably.

“Unwise,” she repeated, taking a step into the light of the fire so that he could see her, “given... given my current state.”

He narrowed his eyes and she could feel his gaze on her like an ice cold caress. “What state? I was not informed that you had come to harm. Though, I suppose that I should have expected it after sending that farce of a knight with you.”

Morgana took a deep breath, keenly aware that defending Morgause too fiercely would be unwise. “No, I was not harmed. We  _were_  attacked on the road to Mermering, I admit. But Morgause fought off five well armed men to keep me untouched, earning herself an injury in my protection. She was very brave and thought not a second for her own safety, only my own.”

“Then why speak of caution?” Uther asked, sounding tired of her already. He had turned his attentions from her back to his meal. The pheasant’s carcass was picked at some more, a sliver of dark meat coming free and quickly being devoured.

“Because I am with child,” she said simply. His head snapped up, his attentions refocused on her like a hunting dog’s on a fear-paralysed rabbit. “So you can see why I did not want to risk a quicker pace.”

That got him out of his chair, a leg bone falling from his fingers to the floor with a blunted crack. “You are-”

“With child,” she finished for him, unconsciously smoothing her hand once over her babe.

The truest smile that she had seen there since the morning of their wedding broke out upon Uther’s face, lighting up his eyes with something akin to youthful joy. For a moment, she almost remembered how she had felt towards him that day, before their wedding night had stolen her innocence and both of their gaiety.

“Are you – Are you sure?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper.

“I saw my Aunt’s physician, the elder who trained in Greece. He believes that you will have an heir by the Epiphany.” She would not say ‘a son’ as she always did to Morgause or now to Gwen.  In her heart she knew it to be true but no good would come of promising it to him. Queen’s had lost their heads for far less than having a daughter rather than a son, and there were eligible princesses who would likely prove fertile for him far quicker than she had. “It is three months since I have bled,” she added quietly, to still any of his lingering doubts.

He crossed to her in two long strides, beaming, his greased hand going to her abdomen. “By the Epiphany you say?”

“Yes, my lord.” It took all of her will not to flinch away from his touch. It had not been so difficult before. She had been used to it and had known no better. Now she was used to Morgause’s gentle hands and gentler words. The press of her hand had been tentative over Morgana’s stomach, as if she feared that she might harm the child from even such a delicate touch. Uther’s press was as firm and possessive as Morgause’s was slight and reverential, his hand feeling far too big upon her. It was as if it belonged to a giant or a hand of stone of one of the statues of his forefathers who stood vigil along the walls. Only this hand was not of stone, it was of greasy flesh and was ruining her new silk, making her stomach twist.

But then she looked again upon his face and saw that he was still glowing with that smile. She could not bring herself to think on him with such distaste whilst he looked like that.

“Oh Morgana,” he breathed, pulling her to him and wrapping his arms around her, as gentle as a man of his stature could be.

She closed her eyes and she let herself relax into him. She would enjoy it, remember it. It was a fleeting moment of the life they could have lead if he had been kinder and she had been...

“You have no idea what this means to me,” he breathed, his voice shaking.  “ _Thank you_ ,  _my Queen_.”

“And you, my King,” she answered, meaning it. “I too know a little of what it is to desire this.”

He pulled back and reached out to cup her cheek, gazing at her with a strange expression that she couldn’t quite remember having seen before. The smell of grease, sharp and pungent, reached her nose a second before she realised what he was going to do. He seemed almost graceful as he leant down to kiss her, like some gallant knight – only she had one of those and her knight’s kisses were nothing like his. Though his intentions seemed well enough, he could not prevent the stubble on his chin from chaffing against her skin or change the firmness or shape of his lips. But he could have changed the way he forced his tongue into her mouth, possessing, never even thinking of seeking out permission first as Morgause always did. Some things would never change, not in a man as old and set as Uther.

When he slipped his arm around her back, pulling her flush against him, she dropped her head, breaking the kiss. “I am tired, my lord. The journey has been long and with the child I am not as strong as I once was.”

“Then let me take you to bed,” he said in a voice low with wanting, pulling her harder against him. He said it as if it were something they did, as if at the end of the day they laid together and slipped from wakefulness in each other’s arms. Those were things she did with Morgause. Uther never even waited long enough to see if the red marks he left on her skin would melt away. What about her bearing his child could he think made that different when it was what they had expected all along? On their wedding night, after he had spent himself and finally seemed to see his tearstained wife for the child – the adoptive daughter – that she was, they had thought it inevitable and that had not stilled his guilt. Ever since then, no matter how much he desired her, he always left afterwards and never returned until the next night, full again with needs to be sated.

“Your Majesty, I am with child,” Morgana said in a panicked quiver, fear making her heart race. She had been sure that this news would have him leave her, but his hands were already tugging on her laces where they held the gown together across her chest, slipping inside.

She had expected it to free him of his guilt by setting him free of the need of her, not freeing him to take more of her. Perhaps, in his eyes, the babe made her a woman like everyone else he had lain with, and so made her someone different altogether from his tearstained bride.

“It is  _my_  child that you carry,” he reminded her firmly. “A child brought about by our union. And it will be with our union that we shall rejoice in him.”

“Not me,” she resisted, shaking her head. “ _No_.”

Fury burned in his eyes when he shouted, “’No’? You are my wife! I am your husband – the King! You do not have the right to tell me ‘no’. You will do whatever I tell you to and I will do with you whatever I damn well please!”

“Not whilst I carry this babe. I will not endanger our child!” Morgana bit, taking another step back, her hand instinctively going to the stain of grease. “This child is precious, surely you understand that? I will not let anything come to pass that has even the slightest chance of harming it. I have held my breath every waking moment of the last week for fear that my horse might spook and throw me to the floor. For as long as I carry this child, you will kindly turn your affections elsewhere. For I am your Queen and it is your heir whom I am trying to protect.” Chest heaving, she waited for a moment for him to make the next move. When it did not immediately come, she turned and made to leave, any empathy she had felt for him turning sour in her mouth.

“This is not the end of our conversation!” Uther growled, lunging forward to follow her.

Something snapped inside Morgana and she became suddenly very calm. She paused and looked back over her shoulder at Camelot’s great King, her hand still on the door handle. “Yes, it is.”

 

 

...

 

 

She was shaking when she got back to her chambers, unable to believe what she had just done. For the first time in their marriage, she had refused him. She had screamed at him, laid out a diktat and left him to work out what had happened. Whatever it was that he had discerned had led him not to follow her. She did not know whether that should make her feel relieved or more afraid than if he had dragged her back to his room and taken from her what he would.

“Morgana,” Gwen gasped the moment she came trembling through the door. Her eyes were wide with shock and she dropped the pot of precious oil she had been holding, letting it tumble to the floor and shatter, seeming not to notice it at all. She rushed forward to lead Morgana away from the door, leading her to sit on the edge of the bed. Raising her eyes from Morgana’s ruined dress, she asked desperately, “What happened?”

Seeing where her gaze had been brought tears to Morgana’s eyes. “I – I am sorry, I – All of that work you put into it and –”

“Hush,” Gwen soothed in a tone that was simultaneously comforting and admonishing, brushing a falling tear from Morgana’s cheek.  “Nothing has been done to it that cannot be fixed. It is you that I am worried about, not a dress. I need ask again, Morgana, what happened?”

“I – I told him ‘no’,” Morgana breathed, not believing it even as she said it. “He wanted... but I told him ‘no’ and then... then I left.” In saying it, she realised something. “He let me.”

“Do not think on it now,” Gwen said uselessly, but her expression seemed more troubled even as Morgana’s heart began to slow.

“What is it?” Morgana asked, her worry flaring to match Gwen’s.

“Morgause was here just before you returned. She... She was summoned to see the King. A guard came to escort her. I thought – we both thought – that...” She trailed off and would not look at Morgana again.

“That I was with the King and I had summoned her,” Morgana finished for her, ice settling in her stomach. If the guards had wanted, they could have reached her chambers before her. The command could have been sent after she had left.

 

 

...

 

 

The door shut behind Morgause with a deafening bang, echoing through the near empty throne room as it trapped her inside. A shiver ran down her back when she saw that she and the King were alone. With all she had learnt of the man since becoming Morgana’s guard, being in his presence alone, being the sole focus of his attention was not a thought she relished. Particularly, after the latest news of the failed treaty had reached her ears and she had seen the squalor in the streets. Camelot was in dire need and she required a gracious and humble leader, and that was by no means any man’s description of her current King. Uther was far more likely to once more condemn Camelot’s future than he was to improve it. Camelot was running out of possible allies and his only allies, the Kingdoms of Sussex and Kent were neither powerful enough nor close enough to be of help.

Taking a deep breath, Morgause stepped forward, bowed her head and made her address, “Your Majesty. You summoned me.”

Uther leaned back on his throne, disgruntled. “Come closer.”

Morgause raised her head and obeyed.

“You have spent the past month with the Queen,” Uther began, pausing for her answer.

“I have,” Morgause agreed carefully, mindful to appear calm. It was the first thing that Leon had taught her when she came to squire for him – to never let an enemy see your fear. Not that she considered Uther an enemy. That would be a dangerous road down which to walk.

“How has she been? How has she...  _behaved_?” Uther asked, barely seeing Morgause at all. Whatever he was on his mind, it was naught to do with her.

Morgause took a moment to consider her answer. The King and Queen had argued, of that she was now sure. She would never have imagined it before their trip to Mermering, but in the White Keep Morgana had grown strong. Morgause had been both dreading and longing for that new fire to come up against Uther. Now that it had, she was determined to keep Morgana from the worst of the backlash if she could. “I should not say it for loyalty to her, but Her Majesty has been increasingly wilful.”

That seemed to be the answer that the King had wanted, for he sighed and relaxed, the tension in his posture dissipating. “I assume she has told you of the babe.”

“She has, Your Majesty.” Again, careful. “It was pertinent to her protection. If she were not parted from you then I am in no doubt that you would have been informed first.”

Morgana would not have told him first, but he did not need to know that. Gaius would likely have beaten her to it, so what Morgause had said was not entirely a lie.

“Of course,” Uther said dismissively. “It seems to me that my son is making her... What word was it that you used?”

“’Wilful’, Your Majesty.”

“Wilful.”  Uther nodded.  “It seems that my son is making her wilful, making her bold. I do not doubt that once she delivers this will dissolve, but for the moment her security must be emboldened to meet with this wilfulness. You are to keep to her side constantly.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Morgause assured him.

“ _Constantly_. As we speak a cot- bed is being erected in the Queen’s sleeping chamber – I expect that will be sufficient for you.” He did not give her a chance to answer. “There are of course advantages to your womanhood, such as these sleeping arrangements. Such things would not be possible with any other knight, not even the honourable Sir Leon himself. I must admit that you have proven yourself useful.” He took a breath. “Soon it will be common knowledge that I am to have an heir. I have... competitors who might wish to change that. Your commander has informed me that you sustained an injury, and Morgana insists that you earned it fearlessly fighting off five men in her defence. Is this true?”

“I – Yes, Your Majesty.” Morgause bowed her head.

“Good. Sir Leon assures me that you are more than capable of protecting the Queen. It is only fitting that you must have a reward for all that you have done. And do not give me the answer that all of you knights give. The honour of serving is your privilege but not your reward.” The King looked as her expectantly. “I will grant you anything within reason. I will not have it said that I am an unreasonable King.”

“There is one thing that would beg of you, Your Majesty,” Morgause murmured, raising her head.

 

 

...

 

 

“There,” Gwen said, straightening the nightshift over Morgana’s shoulders, “that’s better.”

Morgana smiled at her, because it  _was_  better. Just not better enough.

She took in breath, intent on thanking Gwen, but a knock at the door cut her short.

“Let me,” Gwen said softly as ever, squeezing Morgana’s arm and leaving her behind the cover of the screen. She crossed to the door in a dozen worried paces, whispering a prayer under her breath that it not be bad news that their visitor brought. When she opened the door to see two guardsmen waiting there, she feared that her prayer had gone unheard.

“On the orders of the King, a bed is to be set up in Her Majesty the Queen’s sleeping quarters,” the elder of the two men announced, a nod of his head bringing Gwen’s attention to the near complete bed frame leaning against the wall behind them. “It is to be for the use of Her Majesty’s personal guard, whom the King was decreed must guard Her Majesty both day and night.”

And because they would not come in unless invited, even on orders from the King, Gwen stepped back and gestured for them to enter.

“Her Majesty is readied for bed. I will attend her behind the screen,” Gwen said with as much authority as she could. “Be quick.”

“That we will be, miss,” the younger guard promised, earning a hard look from his partner. Guards did not take orders from servants, not even the Queen’s own handmaiden.

Without another word, the guards went about their work and Gwen hurried back to relay to Morgana what she had not heard.

“Did I hear them correctly?” Morgana asked in a poorly executed whisper, looking too scared to believe it lest it prove untrue or some sort of trap. “Are they really making provisions for Morgause to guard me from my bedside?”

“It seems that way, Your Majesty,” Gwen answered, wary of prying ears. She lowered her voice so that Morgana had to lean closer to hear her. “Though they did not mention her name, so do not rest your hopes on it. But it does seem unlikely that they would set up a bed for any other guard or knight if the King had any sense of...” She let Morgana work out the middle bit. “And I cannot imagine His Majesty allowing a man to stay in your sleeping chambers overnight. Even if he trusted you both implicitly, the scandal would be too much to bear.”

“You really think so?” Morgana asked, her eyes full of childlike hope. “You think that she is safe?”

“I hope it. I cannot know it,” Gwen admitted, reluctant to ruin Morgana’s rising mood but even more unwilling to let her hopes be dashed should she raise them too high. “We will know for certain soon enough.”

From the impatient sigh that made the strands of midnight hair at Morgana’s cheeks flutter, Morgana did not think it could come soon enough.

After the guards left, both women emerged from behind the screen to inspect the men’s work. In place of the table usually holding a candle by the left side of Morgana’s bed sat a short, squat bed flush against the legs of its taller, grander kin. The frame, as Gwen had seen at the doorway, was of plain smoothed wood nailed together to give a simple bed frame upon which a decent mattress was laid. The sheets were humble but when Gwen reached down to rub the fabric between her fingers, she found that is was of good quality, if plain.

“This is the linen granted to those knights who make their home in the barracks quarter of the lower castle,” Gwen observed. “Though their beds are grander than this.”

Morgana, who momentarily seemed to have forgotten her worry, smiled mischievously and asked, “And how would you know of the quality of the knight’s beds?”

Gwen blushed deeper than she had when Morgana had told her of her first night with Morgause. “Not by virtue of anything you are implying, my  _lady_ ,” Gwen replied, emphasising the word ‘lady’ to remind Morgana that a real lady would never ask such a question.

“And anyone who would ever suggest otherwise would have to answer to the Queen,” Morgana said lightly. Then more seriously, “Though you must wish for things of that kind, of love. A husband? Children?”

“I will have more than enough to worry about looking after you and your children,” Gwen insisted politely, wishing Morgana would go back to worrying about Morgause if it would mean an end to that particular conversation.

Morgana nodded, looking a little forlorn.

“I would not have it any other way,” Gwen assured her. She was saved from the conversation going any further by another knock at the door. “I shall get it,” Gwen said for the second time that evening, determined that if it were the guards come to implement some other change to Morgana’s chambers that she would see them off ‘till morn. It was far too late for such alterations and she would not have Morgana disturbed again. After all, Morgana employed her to see to her wellbeing, which should give her the right to refuse entry into the Queen’s bedchamber.

However, when she opened the door she found only one guard, who seemed more intent on changing Morgana’s life than her furniture. She must have smiled in relief then, for Morgause caught it and matched it with a smile of her own and a nod of greeting. To Gwen’s surprise, she waited in the hallway until Gwen had the sense to invite her inside. It was then, whilst Gwen closed and locked the door – intent on deterring any more visitors who might witness the coming reunion – that Morgana looked up from running her fingers across the new bed sheets and saw that her knight had returned.

In a show joyful relief that made Gwen’s stomach flutter, Morgana flew across the room and threw her arms around Morgause’s neck, kissing her at first needily and then gently, before dropping her head to kiss the back of both of Morgause’s hands.

“I feared that when you had been called for...”

“We are safe, for now,” Morgause promised her, tilting up Morgana’s face with a single finger beneath the Queen’s chin to kiss her reverently.

Gwen looked away.

For the corner of her eye, Morgana caught Gwen’s movement and pulled back, saying to Gwen, “I apologise, that will not again happen in your presence. I swear to it. You should not have to-”

“Do not deny yourselves on my sake, for your time in private will be woefully sparse enough without my presence denying you as well,” Gwen interrupted. She could not bear it if her being around Morgana meant making her less happy. “I don’t want you to think of my being here as having any impact upon your... affections.”

Morgana came to her and hugged her then, long and lingering. “I do not deserve you,” she whispered.

Gwen sighed. “It is I who do not deserve you. If you have no further need for me, I shall retire to my antechamber and leave you alone.”

“Do not go. I have not had my fill of your company yet,” Morgana whispered. “I have longed for your company.”

“Yet I think that you long for Morgause’s company more,” Gwen murmured kindly. “The King will not call again tonight and you need ask her what he wanted of her. I will be only a call away, Morgana.”

“You should not have to help us,” Morgana breathed against the crook of Gwen’s neck, still holding her close.

“I will do anything to make you happy,” Gwen promised. “I have never seen you happier than when you saw her walk through that door. I will do all I can to keep you looking that way.” Squeezing Morgana one last time, Gwen released her and stood back. “If you need me, I will be near. But I know that you will not. Goodnight, Morgana.” She looked to Morgause. “And to you, my lady.”

“I hope that you sleep well, Guinevere” Morgause bade, bowing to her like any of her brothers would bow to a noble lady.

Gwen smiled, stifling a girlish giggle. She turned back to Morgana. “Well she certainly is charming.”

“Endlessly,” Morgana smiled, looking past her to her knight.

Once they were alone, Morgause crossed to her Queen and drew her close. “I thought for a moment that we have already been discovered,” she whispered, leaning her forehead against Morgana’s and stroking her cheek. “You must not let me endanger you.”

“The danger would be the peril my heart would surely face were you ever to leave me,” Morgana whispered, her eyes closed.

“Never,” Morgause whispered. “And now that the King has dictated I stay by your side day and night, you will never be free of me.”

“Is that a promise?”

“The honourable word of a knight,” Morgause promised, pressing a kiss to each of Morgana’s flushed cheeks. “I would never break a promise to you, my love.”

Morgana blushed. “It makes my heart flutter when you refer to me such.”

Morgause smiled that charming smile of hers, making Morgana’s heart fluttered a little more. “Let me get out of this armour and I will make it flutter a little more.”

Morgana blushed again, before untangling herself from Morgause’s arms and moving around to her back to get to work loosening the supple leather straps that held her knight’s pauldron. She was only clad in that, her upper vambrace and her gorget, so Morgause could easily have rid herself of them, but that was not the point. Morgana wanted to do it, and by now Morgause knew better than to try to dissuade her.

 When she was done, she stepped back to let Morgause take off her mail, wrapping her arms around Morgause’s warm waist from behind whilst Morgause’s arms were still in the air and pressing a kiss to the sigil on Morgause’s shoulder. She whispered, “Take me to bed.”

“Gladly, my Queen.”

And before Morgana could take another breath, Morgause spun around and kissed her fiercely, as a Queen should be kissed. Her hands smoothed downwards, lifting her off the ground so that Morgana had no choice but to wrap her legs around her knight’s waist and let herself be consumed. Every kiss, every touch, washed away the King’s so perfectly that Morgana had to cry, her tears salting their kiss as they had their first. True to her promise, Morgause had set her heart to thundering. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N - This is a bit of a bridge chapter to launch us into the drama that is to come. Bear with me and I assure you that you will not be disappointed. Its about to get crazy in Camelot.

Morgana sighed sleepily and let her eyes flutter closed. She was unwilling to fall asleep quite yet but far too exhausted to hold open her heavy eyelids for even a moment longer. The day had been a long one, and though sleeping seemed sweet, she was sure that the night would prove far too short should she let herself drift from wakefulness.

“Do not sleep yet,” Morgause bid in a teasing whisper, nuzzling against her in a way that reminded Morgana of the affectionate trio of lionesses that had come in on one of her father’s ships. Morgana had been so small at the time that her father had only let her watch the great cage being unloaded from the top of the dock. They had been full of marvels those vessels. The plainest of ships would open its hold and show you all of the wonders of the world. It taught her never to trust first impressions, for they were often, as they had been with Morgause, wrong.

“I will not, not if I can help it,” Morgana whispered back. “But I am truly contented for the first night since we left Mermering and sleep is calling so sweetly.”

“I am glad, my love,” Morgause said, gently pressing her lips to one and then the other of Morgana’s eyelids. She was holding Morgana close as she had done every night in the White Keep, one arm slipped underneath the curve of her waist and the other over her hip, rubbing lazy circles onto the hollow of her back. It had become so instinctual that she did not think that she would be able sleep any other way. Warmth was impossible to find once dark fell without Morgana pressed against her, that she had found out on their long journey home. “I do not wish to taint that contentedness, but I need know that you understand that this cannot be the way of it every night.”

Morgana sighed again, reluctantly murmuring, “I understand, though that does not mean I like it.”

“Nor do I,” Morgause said quickly.

“I know.” Morgana opened her eyes and tilted her head so that she could meet Morgause’s gaze. It was easy for her to lose herself in those deep dark eyes and Morgana never did try to fight it. She felt as though she could see into Morgause’s soul through her eyes and that in return her own heart was laid bare. For the first time, she wondered what they were doing. She had never thought about it before. All she had known was that Morgause fascinated her. Then the fascination had become an obsession, an ache. After that the wanting had been natural and she had never questioned it, not even when Morgause had kissed her.

“Then what is it?” Morgause asked, concerned.

“You have had loves before,” Morgana said, her eyes on the chain around Morgause’s neck.

“I cannot and I would not change that, not even for you. Our past is not something we should seek to change, Morgana. There lies only danger.” There was an age evident in those words, not so much of years but of experiences Morgana had yet to have. “Not all were loves, though. I, like any other free soul, have been driven by desire. Love is not something I feel easily. I have only loved you and one other, and you need not fear that your place in my heart may be usurped.”

“Who? Who else did you love?” Morgana asked, a shiver running over she skin when Morgause’s caress stilled. There was no competing with a first love. Or so all the famous tales professed.

“A girl I once knew.” Was all Morgause was prepared to give. She could be an enigma when she wanted to be. Morgana wondered whether that came from all of the secrets she had had to keep or from the need to shroud her true self in the knighthood. Morgana herself found that day by day she gave less of herself to the people she met, fear that she would give away too much constantly preying on her mind.

“So it was a...”

“Woman? Yes.” Morgause lifted Morgana’s chin to bring their gaze together. She wasn’t sure, but she thought that Morgana looked a little afraid.

“And those you have not loved but...”

“All women.” Morgause confirmed. “For me it could only be so, I believe.”

Morgana nodded and fell into thought for a short while. “So there are others? We are not the only ones?”

Taking note of Morgana’s perhaps unintentional confession, Morgause answered softly, her lips curving into a smile, “No, my love. There is nothing new about what we feel. When the Old Religion prevailed in this land it was not even all that uncommon.”

Again, Morgana nodded, thinking. “Then does it have a name?”

“Many,” Morgause murmured, resuming her circles on Morgana’s skin. “Only one I am prepared to share with you. Most others used today are not kind. As with all elements associated with the Old Religion, it is frowned upon by the One God. Or at least his followers.”

“Oh,” Morgana said quietly, though she had already suspected that. There had been, she thought, sermons that had touched on the subject given by Camelot’s bishop in the years since she had come to the city. But Morgana had never paid too much attention to such things and had usually sat dreaming of happier things beside the King.

“In the Old Language, some called it fey, a title not at all cruel or diminishing. Some of our High Priestesses were known to be so, the most revered being Ganariel the Great. She founded the Great temple and settling on Avalon and later led her followers to the Isle of the Blessed when the Romans came. It is said that they held out there for over one hundred years before a Roman soldier dare set foot on her holy soil. Now that place is naught but a ruin but her spirit is said to remain there, offering sanctuary to all those unjustly pursued or persecuted. It is said that one of Camelot’s own legendary knights, Sir Colwyn, fled to the island with the old Queen’s lady in waiting when their union was forbidden. Other stories tell of the young woman with no magic in her blood, a Roman by birth, who found her way to the isle when her father tried to arrange her a marriage to a nearby merchant’s son. Ganariel took her in and cloaked her in magic so that no man could find her, telling the woman that she was free to leave and would never again be pursued. But the woman did not leave, choosing instead to stay by Ganariel’s side until both were invited into the Vale of the Afterlife together, unable to be parted even by the Gods. ”

“I have heard of her, your Ganariel the Great, but I did not know that,” Morgana smiled. “For my people ‘fey’ means someone like you and her too, though not for who you love but the magic in your veins. I have often wondered if that was where my family name came from. Uther, able to speak only his own tongue, seems never to have noticed the connection, thank the Gods.”

“’Thank the Gods’?” Morgause questioned, her smile growing.

“Uther’s God has never been kind to me. And he would be even less kind should Uther ever discover my love for you. I think, perhaps, your Gods may be kinder, as you have been,” Morgana said carefully. She had been thinking about it for a while, ever since the island where the bond between them had burgeoned and been held high. It was the first time she had felt magic and even though it had been nothing more than a feeling, she had felt as though the powers on the island were smiling down on them. Those Gods did not seem like Gods to be afraid of as the clerics insisted she should be of the One God, but something to watch over you and protect you. It may just have been her rationalising her feeling towards Uther and Morgause, of that she was keenly aware, but that did not dissuade her from feeling a kind of affinity with the Old Religion, no matter how dangerous that would be. “I know that I was not born to it but-”

“No?” Morgause interrupted. “I would not be too sure of that. Both the land that you and you mother were born in and that where your father hails were strongholds of the Old Religion in times gone by, even if their Gods carried different names. The Romans too were once true believers, before they adopted the One God. I would not be surprised if every man, woman and child in Camelot has some ancestor who practiced the fair arts. Things fall in and out of favour. Time may change things. It cannot erase the past.”

“Nor should we seek to do so,” Morgana said, eager to show that she was learning. Around Morgause she felt at her youngest. There was so much that she didn’t know, a world of things she had never even imagined before Morgause’s lips had pressed to hers.

“Though in your case I could see why you might want to,” Morgause conceded. “And I too have wished to change the things done to you. But not anymore.” She brought forward her hand from Morgana’s back to her swollen abdomen. The news of her cousin’s illness and seeing her Tristan again had made think of what she wanted and what she was prepared to overlook to make Morgana happy. “I am still not promising anything, but I would not change this for the world, not now I have seen how you bloom with it. Every day you grow stronger, your will rising up to surpass a warrior’s as all mothers’ spirits do. Though you have not met your babe yet, your love is already in your eyes and the unconscious way that your hand goes to comfort him. It is so beautiful to see, Morgana, and I will never let anyone take it from you.”

The vow wasn’t a new one but it made Morgana swoon regardless. Morgause always proved herself most a knight when she was laid bare, all curves and softness beneath Morgana’s fingers. The contrast brought out her gallantry in a way that mail and a sword never could. It left Morgana in no doubt that she was born to it, born for greatness and honour. That was what made Morgana most vulnerable, utterly unable to resist her.

“By the Gods, I love you,” she whispered, her voice husky from the ache her knight had set inside her. She tilted up her head to bring Morgause’s lips to hers and kissed her desperately, arching into her and wishing again that the night would never end.

“And I you, my Queen and heart,” Morgause breathed onto her lips, her eyes burning dark in the midnight hour, a wanton angel of destruction come not to conquer but to save. “And even the Gods would be damned if they ever tried to keep me from you whilst you would still have me. So pray that they do not try.”

Morgana felt the shivering darkness envelop her and she welcomed it. “It is all I will ever pray for.”

...

Morgana reached for the carriage’s curtain and found it to be crudely nailed to the curved willow frame. Another of the King’s ‘precautions’ she supposed. It had barely been half a day since he had discovered that he was to have an heir and already she could not count on her two hands the liberties he had withdrawn from her. It had started that morning with Uther’s insistence at their shared breakfast that her maidservant taste her food before she ate it, lest it be poisoned. Morgana had been moments away from giving him a piece of her mind when Morgause had gallantly stepped in and taken Gwen’s place. That had not pleased Morgana either, but the moment’s pause had given her time to think better of voicing her protests.

From there things had gotten swiftly worse. Now she was no longer permitted to walk outside of the castle walls without a further five guard escort and a carriage to shield her from the eyes and dangers of her subjects.

“It is not even as if this affords any protection. Any half-decent blade could cut this canvas,” Morgana said shortly, running her eyes over the scarlet cloth enclosing them. She slipped two fingers under the fixed ebony curtain and peered under it. She could see nothing but bright late-morning light. Sighing, she gave up and turned her attention back into the carriage. “And what will your family think? It looks as though I am seeking to give myself a grand entrance in the hopes of making some sort of point about my importance. That is the last thing that they need.”

Morgause, gagged by Gaius’s presence, could do nothing but give her a sympathetic smile. If she could have spoken plainly then she would say that her family had already heard from her how highly she thought of Morgana.

“Pity an old man, I am not as spry as I used to be,” Gaius said, his voice deep and gruff as he patted her knee. He had been at her door at first light to examine her. Morgause had been rousing her with a kiss when he had knocked. Gwen had come rushing in to call to him through the door to come back when the Queen was ready to receive guests. Morgana had blushed down to her navel from the embarrassment of it and Morgause had not helped by kissing her there too once Gwen had silently left them alone to dress. Gaius had been back within the hour, quickly agreeing with the physician at Mermering. “I will assure the Wildes that this mode of transport is for my benefit and not yours.”

“I would appreciate it,” Morgana said with a reluctant smile. She did not wholly trust the man. His strong ties with Uther were long held, longer than any other could boast. With him she must be more careful than even with Uther himself. The King was often blinded to what was straight in front of him. Gaius was far quicker and would root out their secret if given the chance.

“Or better yet, blame me. If not for me then you would be safe within the castle walls,” Morgause put in, her eyes swimming with guilt.

Tears stung at Morgana’s eyes and her stomach fluttered with shame. She was playing the part of a spoilt royal splendidly and hurting Morgause in the process.

“That will not be necessary, dear, I do not think,” Gaius answered before Morgana could speak. “As I said, the carriage would be needed for me regardless. The Wilde house is beyond the scope of my usual rounds and, with little idea of what is wrong with your cousin, I need bring many things which might be needed. Including,” he patted the rug bag at his right side, “several books.”

“And here I thought that you were all-knowing,” Morgana said good naturedly. She was going to have to work at being charming, she feared. Nerves at meeting Morgause’s family had her on edge. Even if they would never know what she was to Morgause, Morgana wanted them to think well of her. They were the only Wilde’s left that Morgause knew of and Morgana was intent upon endearing herself to them.

“Ah,” Gaius smiled. “Only a foolish man would declare himself all-knowing . There is always more to learn.”

“Upon that, we are in complete agreement,” Morgause said suddenly as the carriage jerked to a stop. There was a strange look in her eye, as if she was planning something. Morgana could not help but smile.

The house was larger than Morgana had expected. There were two floors and its front face stretched wide with six windows per floor looking onto the road. Morgana reckoned there to be two rooms across and two back, making six per floor. She was not wrong.

“It is so big!” she exclaimed, gazing up at it from the cobbled street.

“Not as big as the castles you are used to,” Morgause said playfully, enjoying the brief moment alone that the guards unpacking Gaius’ equipment gave them.

“It is larger than any of the houses I stayed in as a child with my father.”

Morgause looked at her surprised. “But I thought...”

“Mermering may be rich but it is also old. I was definitely not used to such finery day to day. My father had money but it was always invested in this or that. We certainly never had two floors!” Morgana laughed, her nerves unexpectedly leaving her. “You led me to believe that your family’s wealth had disappeared along with any power you once had in this land. Except, that is, for what your father earned with his knighthood.”

“This is what he earned with his knighthood. This is the house I grew up in. My uncle and his family came to here after I moved into the castle. I did not like having so many rooms empty when he had but two. I have a smaller house more fit for one not too far from here, should I ever need it. Though that is empty too whilst I live at the castle,” Morgause explained, taking the opportunity to take a good look at her old home. It had not changed one bit since she was a child. Except, that is, for the tiny pale face looking out at them from a top floor window. Morgause caught his eye and smiled. “It seems that our arrival has not gone unnoticed.”

Morgana followed her gaze up to the dark window just in time to see the face disappear. “Your cousin?”

“Tristan,” Morgause confirmed. “He is a little shy.”

“Better shy than fiendish and boisterous,” Gaius said loudly, deliberately drawing their attention to himself and his various bags of equipment. “Any chance of some assistance Miss Wilde?”

“Of course,” Morgause exclaimed apologetically, jumping to his assistance. “Forgive me.”

As fate would have it, just as Morgause went to Gaius’ aid, the heavy oaken front door swung back on its hinges to reveal a fair haired man with more than a passing resemblance to his niece. His eyes, as deeply dark as Morgause’s, though toned blue instead of brown, widened at the sight of her. He looked deeply surprised to be faced with the Queen standing alone on his doorstep, even though Morgause has sent word to expect her. Morgana herself felt more than a little taken aback.

“Your Highness,” the man choked, bowing deeply. “It is an honour.”

For a moment, Morgana was lost for words. She had expected to be introduced and then largely ignored. Or maybe she had just hoped for it.

“I am not certain if you know, but I owe my life to your niece. And my father’s life, rest his soul, I owed to your brother. I am indebted to you and your family. So the honour is mine, I assure you,” Morgana said sincerely. “I was so sorry to hear of your daughter’s ill health. If there is anything I can do to help...”

“You have done enough,” Rivalen said gratefully, inviting her inside. “Without you, we wouldn’t ‘ave the luxury of ‘aving our daughter see the court physician. I ‘ear too that the ‘onourable Gaius’ services being offered free to the city’s poorest by the crown is down your fair influence on our King. I may not benefit from that ruling but I know many that ‘ave. Your kindness is sure to be the thing of great legend.”

“Today is your niece’s doing,” Morgana insisted, stepping inside. “But I thank you for your appreciation. Kindness is the least someone with my privilege can give.”

“No, Your Highness. It is far more than that.”

Morgana’s eyes adjusted to the slight darkness of the room. “I see that fair speech runs in your family, Mr. Wilde.”

Morgause appeared in the doorway with a bag slung over her back and another two in her right hand. She was straining a little under their weight. “Forgive me, Your Highness, for not being present to introduce you.” She dropped the larger of the two bags from her hand and gestured towards Morgana. “Uncle, may I present Her Highness Morgana Pendragon, Queen of the Great Kingdom of Camelot, heir to the fair splendour of Mermering and the only daughter of the valiant Gorlois Le Fay.”

“Well that was surely an introduction worth waiting for,” Morgana murmured to herself, hoping that the low light would hide her blush.

“And this,” Morgause continued, “is my uncle, Rivalen Wilde, head of the Wilde family.”

“And a great family it is too,” Morgana said, wishing not for the first time that she were one of them. It had been so easy for Rivalen’s wife. Just a few simple vows. “Though I would never put you as my young guard’s uncle. Her brother, maybe.”

Morgause dipped her head to hide her smile. She had never been in doubt that Morgana would charm her way into the Wilde’s hearts.

“If I remember rightly,” Gaius began, having come into the house part way through Morgause’s introductions, “Kendrick Wilde’s younger brother was no more than a boy when the victorious party of three returned from the battle of Illhelm.”

“This is Gaius. He is the best physician in the kingdom,” Morgana put in needlessly. All of Camelot knew Gaius. Her nerves may have faltered and faded but she was still at a loss. Gaius’ presence did not only restrain her affections, her behaviour as a whole would not doubt be reported back to the Ling. She would have to play the good Queen if she was to be allowed out again.

Rivalen bowed his head to the old man. “Your memory serves you well. I was not that much older than my son, Tristan, is now.”

As if waiting for the mention of his name to make his entrance, Tristan walked slowly into the parlour room and towards Morgana, his hands hidden behind his back. There was a look of intense concentration on his face, as if he was trying desperately to not forget something. When he reached a respectful distance from her, he stopped and tilted up his head to meet her eyes. Even in the low light, Morgana could see that his eyes – the same brown as Morgause’s – were wide with wonder. He seemed to have forgotten entirely what it was he had been schooled to do.

“How does a nice young man greet Her Highness the Queen, Tristan?” Morgause prompted, a hint of amusement laced through her softly commanding voice.

Tristan’s mouth opened into a wide ‘O’, his wits returning to him.

“Your Highness,” he greeted in a shaky voice, high with his youth. He bent into a low bow, folding himself almost completely in half and quite giving away the surprise of a red rose hidden behind his back.

Morgause had to bite her lip to stop herself from audibly laughing. Morgana shot her a reproachful look. Sinking elegantly downwards, Morgana brought him out of his bow with a hand to his pinked cheek.

“It is an honour, young Tristan Wilde. I have heard that you are on track to become a fine knight some day,” Morgana whispered, her words just for him. That would make her few words seem all the more special, she knew. He blushed. “You must promise to wear my favour at your first tournament.”

His eyes light up. “I will!”

Morgana smiled, running her hand through his floppy golden hair. He looked so much like Morgause that it made her heart ache. She would give anything to have a child like him one day, a Wilde.

“I brought you a flower,” he whispered in the way children did, loud enough for all to hear. He produced the rose and held it up to Morgana. “It’s from the best flower stall on the market. Mother sent me out with a new coin this morning. I asked the lady to cut off all the thorns so that you wouldn’t prick yourself.”

“You are such a considerate young man. And you definitely picked a beauty. I daresay it is the prettiest flower I have ever seen,” Morgana charmed, taking the flower as she heard the swish of a woman’s skirts moving into the room. Rising, Morgana came eye to eye with Rivalen’s young wife. The woman’s eyes were not that of a Wilde but light green and weary with the pain of having a sick child. That look terrified Morgana. She recognised her own fear in the bath at Mermering as a mere shadow of the fear a mother could feel for her child. What if something ever happened to her babe? Morgause would protect him, she swore to it. There was nothing that she would not do to keep him safe. But what if he fell ill? Not even Morgause could protect him from that.

Tristan’s polite hand on her arm brought Morgana’s attention back to the room. “This is my mother,” he told her once Morgause crouched back down to him. “Her name is Blancheflor, but she thinks Flor is better so you should call her that.”

“Tristan!” Flor admonished. “I apologise for my son’s discourtesy, Your Highness.”

“It is alright,” Morgana interrupted before Tristan could be reprimanded any further. “He has been nothing but gallant, I assure you.”

Flor opened her mouth as if to protest but closed it again almost immediately. “Then it is my own apology which I should offer, Your Highness, for not being here to greet you.”

“You have far more pressing concerns than being at your door to see me arrive,” Morgana said, smiling sadly. “There are times when status and ceremony need be put aside. This is one of them.”

“Thank you,” Flor said quietly. She looked at Morgana curiously and then to her sister-in-law, before coming back to rest her attention on the Queen. “I – err – I have set a jug of blackberry cordial and freshly baked potato bread in the dining room, if it would please you to take a light lunch whilst you wait.”

Morgana clutched the fragile rose in her hand. The stripping of the thorns had taken away the flower’s defences, leaving the stem slim and yielding. “If you will join me, then I would be honoured.”

...

“Do you think the remedy will work?” Morgana asked as the carriage jerked to a halt in centre of the castle courtyard. They had not spoken since they had left the Wilde’s.

Gaius sighed. “Truth be told, I have only seen one such case before and that was long before you came to Camelot, when Uther Pendragon was new on the throne and Queen Igraine was younger than you are now.”

Morgause stirred nervously in her corner, her hand on the hilt of her sword. She had little pity for the old Queen. It had been her eagerness to please Uther which had brought an end to the greatness of the Old Religion and any hope, Morgause feared, of saving her cousin.

“That said, I am hopeful that the remedy may revive Miss Wilde. Good day Your Highness” Gaius smiled, nodded his goodbye and left them alone.

“I had hoped that...” Morgause sighed, her gaze focused somewhere indistinct outside of the slim opening in the canvas. “I do not know what I had hoped.”

“If it was anything near to what I had been hoping then you will be as disappointed with our court physician as I am,” Morgana said plainly, not caring if the carriage guards could hear her. “The remedy he gave Flor was the same in colour and dosing instructions as the one supposed to ward of the terrors of nightmares.”

Morgause’s jaw tightened in anger.

“There is a specialist in sleeping maladies that Uther once had come and see me when I was a child. I will send for him before the eve falls,” Morgana said in a decisive and cold tone. “Gaius’ incompetence in such matters can only be suffered so far.”

Morgause’s anger dissipated and she stared aghast at the space where Morgana had been only moments before. She had gone, her footsteps echoing up the great stone steps in the near empty courtyard. It took Morgause a second to remember that she must follow her and be quick about it.

“Where are you going?” she hissed in a whisper, catching up to Morgana in less than a dozen strides. She had to make a fist of her sword hand to stop it from reaching for Morgana’s arm to restrain her from her foolish anger. “Stop and think clearly for a moment,” Morgause demanded “Your Highness,” she added, lest anyone be listening.

“Do you think me so dim-witted as to burst in on the King when my ‘will’ is so strong and my patience so thoroughly worn thin?” Morgana snapped. “Credit me with more intelligence than the men of this court do, Morgause.”

They slipped out of sunlight and into the shadowed hall. With mismatched steps, they hastened towards the east wing along the pale stone corridor down which Morgana had walked, innocent in white, towards her wedding. It had been named Emyrein in centuries past for the pure and gentle daughter of the then king. Morgana had always felt uncomfortable there, out of place. Beside Morgause she felt more uncomfortable than ever.

“That is not how I think, as you well know. I seek only to protect you!”

The desperation in Morgause’s voice was enough to bring Morgana to a stop, if not enough to make her look at her. “I do not need protecting from myself.”

“Which I why I did not question you judgement, only asked that you made time to assure yourself of your decision,” Morgause explained, chastened. “It is not my place to question you, nor is it my desire.”

“It is for you that my fire was lit,” Morgana conceded quietly, stepping into an alcove to shield them from view. Morgause, as ever, followed her lead. “The thought of one of your blood left without proper care when I could perhaps deliver it to her is unbearable.”

Morgause thought not for the first time of the lengths she would go to in order to protect Morgana’s babe. There were no bounds to what she would do, that much she knew. Still, it had never occurred to her that Morgana might feel some echo of that feeling towards her family.

“Tristan picked the blackberries for the cordial they served me himself, searching the brambles on the edge of the town before the day was even light. And all the while I drank it, he looked at me with wide, eager eyes, happy as anything to have me enjoy his hard work. He is so like you that the first sight of him broke my heart,” Morgana whispered. “That is how strong your hold on my heart is. Your family... I would do anything to become a Wilde like Flor did, and it kills me that I never can. Please, let me at least try to protect them.” There were tears on her cheeks when she at last turned to Morgause. “That way I can pretend, if only for a while.”

Before Morgause could reply, Morgana swept from the alcove and continued down the corridor, never wiping away her tears. She would let them fall and be glad for every wretched one.

...

From the crest of the hill on which he had built his forge, Elyan watched the valley below. His eyes were pinched with worry. The forest was alight with flickering orange stars which moved closer night by night – the campfires of an army, an army marching for Camelot.


	19. Chapter 19

The letter was sent that evening with the city’s swiftest dove. She was a young, spirited hen with a gold band around her left leg and a flash of glittering gold dye tipping her wings. She had been a wedding gift from a Gaulish prince distantly related to Morgana and Uther both. Her message attached, the snowy white bird lifted off from the Queen’s similarly fair hands, soaring up from the eastern tower. With the setting sun at its back, it was coloured momentarily as pink as the flush of anger on Morgana’s cheeks and then turned as pale as cool skin at her wrist. Its colour made it easy to keep track of through the darkening sky, its gold glistening like a star. Morgana watched until it disappeared from view, wishing she could so easily follow. Reluctantly, she left the window behind when there was nothing but blackness to be seen out of its stony frame, a dark canvas too beautiful and tragic to behold.

The room around her had turned dark and cold whilst she had dreamt. Suddenly she wanted to be as far from it as possible. And then the heavy wooden door swung open and Morgause entered, silver in the light of the moon.

“Morgana,” Morgause murmured, worry in her voice, “are you – are you crying?”

The Queen swallowed down her instinctive denial and nodded.

Slowly, as if worried Morgana might spook like an unbridled mare, Morgause stepped into the middle of the circular room and went down on one knee to kiss a shuddering apology onto the palm of Morgana’s ink-stained hand. Above the splotches of black to which Morgause’s lips were pressed, a slash of Pendragon-red ink dissecting her fine wrist caught Morgana’s attention and she wondered what it would be like to sign her name in purple. It would not have the same power, but she could live with that. Power was not all about titles, though she had given the recipient of her letter all she had in learned Latin in hopes he would come and do so as swift as her dove could fly with his acceptance.

 

_ per precibus Eam Celsitudinem Regina Morgana Pendragonde Camelot,  née Le Fay de pulchræ Mermering _

_   
_

Her champion followed her gaze to the scarlet ink and saw that the ‘Regina’ from her signature had been imprinted there by the careless laying of her skin on the still wet ink. Calm and still as if she were about to ride out to battle, she pressed her lips upon it, murmuring against the tainted skin a vow of loyalty. It was a vow she would never break. A vow to live by. A vow to die by.

“Get up off your knees,” Morgana commanded, conflicted.

As quick as she could, Morgause got to her feet, her head bowed but not so low that Morgana could not see the smudge of red ink on her lips. There was something about it that shot deep within her and awoke a Queen’s natural possessiveness. She took a deep breath and tilted up Morgause’s chin, tears forgotten.

“If you question me on a matter of state again, then not even the love I hold for you in my heart will save you from penalty,” she said firmly. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, my Queen,” Morgause murmured, lowering her eyes. “I accept.”

The tower was deserted. Not a soul but the two of theirs breathed within its walls. They were utterly alone, save for the soft cooing of maiden doves in the alcoves surrounding them.

“A Queen cannot be owned, especially not by a knight. You have no rights over your Queen, but you do have rights over me. Alone, you may say to me what you will. But in public you must hold your tongue and be glad that I will allow you to loosen it later.” Taking a breath, Morgana loosened the fastenings at her breast and slipped Morgause’s hand inside to feel the chains of gold. “Feel how I am bound to you, tethered. That is the woman behind the Queen, the one whom your love owns and whose love owns you in return.” She slid the hand higher, up into her hair, stopping short of the silver circlet there. “And here is the Queen whom you may never touch, unless it is where bidden. The same is true of your tongue. Undermine me in public and you will be punished as any knight acting out their place would be. Raise your concerns in private, please, but not where others may hear. It is hard enough for a woman to have power and respect in this world. For another woman, even one who has the honour to be a knight, to speak to a Queen as an equal does not raise the profile of the knight but lower that of the Queen. If Uther is ever to respect me then I must first be respected by all others.”

“You are,” Morgause assured. “Every knight speaks of you with reverence. To them, as to me, you are as close to Godliness as this world has.”

“Then that is reverence, not respect,” Morgana sighed, stepping back to rest her weight on her heels. She was weary and growing wearier by the minute.

“Give any knight of this kingdom an order and watch them risk their life to fulfil your will.  Watch them walk for you into this hell of the One God. You command more respect than you know, Your Highness. You always have,” Morgause said boldly, before lowering her voice to a chastised whisper. “From this moment on, I will show you the respect that you deserve and I shall take any punishment you see fit for my failures.”

The dull ache that had clouded Morgana’s mind all day was blooming behind her eyes. In an attempt to quell it, she brought her hand up and pressed her cool fingers over her closed lids. For precious moment, the pain lessened.

“I do not know how to do this,” she whispered, her eyes pinched closed in pain. “I do not know how to be your Queen and your...”

“Then rule me as my Queen and be assured that I will never turn from you,” Morgause said shakily. The urge to take Morgana in her arms was almost overwhelming.  But that was the problem, was it not? Morgana was conflicted, unable to reconcile the two sides of herself.

The Queen stepped back to lean against the cold stone wall, trembling. “I do not want to rule you, but as your Queen, I  _must_.” Her lips parted in a sigh and she found that even with her eyes closed, Morgause was all she could see. “But inside my chest, the heart that flutters is already under your  rule. My head and my heart are at war and you are the disputed lands that lie like Eden between them.”

“May I?” Morgause appealed, her voice as soft as the caress of a southern breeze to Morgana’s pounding head.

Morgana opened her eyes, finding Morgause more beautiful even than her heart had remembered her. The smallest of nods signalled her acceptance and before she could take another breath, Morgause was before her, warming the very air around her. Her hands rose slowly to rub soothing circles at her temple.

“As you said in your wisdom, my love, when we are alone then we can be whoever we wish to be. If you want to continue as we did at Mermering, when things were simple between us and politics was a far off nightmare, then it shall be so. Then, when we are not alone, I will be your loyal and obedient champion and you will be my Queen. Thinking of it beyond that will only tear us apart,” Morgause whispered, smiling as Morgana’s features softened, the ice of pain melting away.

“How did you learn that?” Morgana murmured, her voice far off and calm. “Your touch, how is it-”

“I have been able to since I was a child,” Morgause said simply, so that Morgana’s suspicions would be confirmed. It was some simple, innate form of magic. Her grandmother had been a wonderful healer before she was put to the sword for her gift in the days of Uther’s father’s reign.

“And being together in this world, can that be as natural?” Morgana wondered aloud.

“If I behave better,” Morgause teased. “It has been a long few days. And though I do not wish to insinuate that this has anything to do with you being tired-”

“But I am,” Morgana interrupted. “My mind is clouded and I cannot think of Eleanor without my heart clenching. And yet, I have never seen her. I carry the future King and yet his father is not the one who owns my heart. I fear more than ever for his coming to my chambers at night, as now it means my certain betrayal of you. That, more than anything, I cannot bear.”

“No,” Morgause said almost sharply. “That – That would not be betraying me. You could never betray me lest you were to give away your heart to someone else.” She brought her hands down to Morgana’s shoulders. “And even then I would accept it if it were what you truly wanted.” She hesitated before asking, “May I kiss you?”

“Always,” Morgana breathed, some of her tension melting away beneath Morgause’s hands.

It was the gentlest kiss they had ever shared. So gentle, that it almost was not a kiss at all.

“This is all that matters to me as far as my own pride is concerned. All I need from you – all I could ever ask for – is for you to love me and let me love you in return, and a promise that you will never feel guilty on my account. Not over Uther.” There was a breath of silence. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” Morgana all but gasped, her eyes swimming with uncertainty. She knew that she had just made a promise that she could never keep.

 

 

...

 

 

Gwen was waiting for them in the doorway when they returned. As were four senior guards in triangular formation, their leader at the front conversing loudly with Morgana’s maid. There was a resolute defiance in Gwen’s glare. She would not let them enter her Queen’s chambers, be she there or not.

“What is the meaning of this?” Morgause asked, stepping ahead of Morgana to take control of the situation. When they were not immediately forthcoming, her hand went to her sword hilt and she barked, “A knight outranks a guard, answer me!”

“His Majesty was concerned for Her Highness’s welfare. He heard that she had arrived back from her outing but did not see her at dinner as was agreed,” the guard with three gold stripes on his shoulder explained, clearly not liking that Morgause had seniority. A single stripe was earned for each decade as a castle guard. Few made it to one and no one had ever before made three. He was more than twice Morgause’s age and resented answering to someone whom he thought should be bearing children, not arms.

“Her Highness suffered from a headache and took to the eastern tower to get some air. She was unaware that such time had passed as to make her late for her dinner. As you are more than aware, it is not my place to remind her,” Morgause said sharply.

“You should not need to,” he scoffed.

Morgause’s hand tightened on her sword. She had had confrontations with the head of the castle guards before. He had given Gwaine a beating in his first week as a squire. She owed him retribution and she would give it to him if he so much as took a step towards Morgana.

Morgana stepped up to Morgause’s side before she could act or speak recklessly. “Give the King my sincerest apologies and ask if breakfasting together would a convenient rearrangement. I would so hate to have missed precious time with him.” At the guard’s hesitation, she continued in a stronger voice, “Be quick about it, we would not want him worrying unwarrantedly. These are tough times, after all.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” With a half-hearted bow, he turned to leave.

“Black,” Morgause called, bringing the party of four to a stop. “Whilst Her Highness attends breakfast with the King on the morrow, report to the Knight Commander’s office. Bring with you your service records.”

Black paled. “Yes, Si-”

“That would be My Lady to you,” Morgause corrected before he could even finish the offending word.

“’My Lady’?” Morgana questioned with an impish smile when Gwen had shut the door behind them, sealing them inside Morgana’s private chambers.

“Why not?” Morgause asked, matching her smile. Her hand fell away from her sword’s hilt and she crossed the room to Morgana’s desk to scratch out a note to Leon.

“I think you have done well to choose it, My Lady,” Gwen said, coming to stand behind Morgana to place a shawl over her shoulders. “It shows courage.”

Morgana turned to smile at Gwen, stifling an urge to kiss her cheek. It would only embarrass Gwen with Morgause around to see it and through Morgana delighted in seeing Gwen’s cheeks flush, she felt that the ordeal with the guards had been quite enough unsettling for one night.

“Yes”, Morgana agreed, looking back to Morgause, “I believe it does.”

 

The rest of night went quickly and soon Gwen had taken her leave of them. The deep dark of the bludgeoning night saw Morgana sat light edge of her bed, plaiting her hair as she watched Morgause change. There was as much complexity in Morgause’s armour and uniforms as there was in the finest gowns Gwen could tailor – and Gwen’s talent was great enough that she made a nice bit of extra money making dresses for the knight’s wives and mothers – and though the individual garments of Morgause’s were of much plainer fare, the way they must be layered and strapped together made Morgana’s head hurt. Still, she watched carefully in the candlelight. She wanted to be able to replicate it, the dressing as well as the taking off. Especially, if Morgause was to fight in a tournament or – Gods forbid – a war.

“Do knights usually dress at home or at the barracks?” she asked, tying a thin leather strap around the bottom of her braid.

“That depends on the occasion and on the knight.” Morgause undid a buckle and her swordbelt came loose.

Morgana thought on that for a moment. “The full armour for a battle or melee - who helps them dress in that?”

Morgause’s breeches fell to the floor. “Their squires. Sometimes their wives.”

A smile turned up the corners of Morgana’s lips. “Did you have a squire?”

“I did.”

Though Morgause turned from the light to remove her shirt and slip on a fresh one, Morgana could still see her curves outlined in flickering gold. She shivered and bit her lip, remembering Morgause’s own lips coming away from her wrist smudged with scarlet. Her skin flushed and she forgot the conversation she had been partaking in. It was far too distracting, wondering if those red lips would leave imprints on her skin.

“His name was Ailes – a scrawny little thing, he was, with black hair and green eyes. He was sent to squire for a knight in the Thirty-Third Company when I came to be your guard,” Morgause continued, oblivious to Morgana’s darkening gaze. “He was not half bad, for his size. I think that is why he was sent to train under me. I had to learn to use my stature to my advantage early on in my career as a knight. Every other man out on the field was nigh thrice my size and twice as strong. That I could never change.”

“When you fight, it is like a dance,” Morgana murmured as Morgause walked towards her, her bare feet padding soundlessly across the stone floor.

Morgause smiled and kissed her forehead before moving away again to gather her sword and lay it beside her small bed. Morgana frowned.

“Can you not stay with me again?” she pleaded.

“Uther is likely angry about dinner. He might pay you a visit tonight,” Morgause said softly, busying herself with pulling back her white cotton bedclothes to prevent her from having to look at Morgana.

“Can you then not slip out from beside me when he knocks?” Morgana begged, sounding almost a child.

An icy hand closed around Morgause’s heart. “He will not knock. He never has before once night has fallen.”

This time it was not the wanting that made Morgana shiver. “And if he does come?”

“I will have to wait outside the door,” Morgause admitted, steadfastly refusing to look Morgana’s way. She hated it, hated it all. It was her duty to protect Morgana and she could not do so much as raise her voice to the man who hurt her the most. If she did, both of them would pay. “You should get into bed before you catch a chill, Morgana. The night is cold and a frost is coming.”

“Winter is coming,” Morgana said, quiet and toneless, “there is no doubt in that.”

When Morgause finally turned back to her, she saw the Queen’s right hand smoothing over her swelling belly.

“Three cycles of the moon,” Morgause said, her eyes unable to look away from Morgana’s babe. “They will soon turn.”

Morgana looked up at her and almost smiled.

“Go on now, get into bed. I cannot do so whilst you are not,” Morgause said, trying to smile back.

Her hand leaving her belly, Morgana obliged, crawling up the bed and sliding beneath the covers. For a moment, she lay on her back and Morgause could see the curve of her belly under the silk sheets.

“Do you need any furs?” she asked. Gwen had left some warming by the fire.

“There are four warming pans beneath the mattress,” Morgana reminded her. “You take the furs, consider it an order.”

The spirited way she said it made Morgause smile. “As you command, my Queen.”

As warm as the furs made the bed, Morgause could not sleep. From a foot below Morgana, she could not watch her sleep as she had done when they had been parted previously at night. It had given her comfort to watch Morgana’s breast heave with each slow, deep breath, the rhythm of it eventually lulling her into pleasant dreams. If she tried, she could still hear Morgana’s breaths above the crackling of the dying fire, but it did not do a thing to slow her speeding heart.

Unable to settle, she pulled herself up to sit back against Morgana’s bedside table, the one that carried three candles instead of two. She had to quickly pull her sheets and furs up around herself as the night air bit into her.

“What is wrong?” Morgana whispered in the dark, clearly herself eluded of sleep.

Morgause jumped. “Sorry, my Queen, I did not know you were awake.”

“How could I sleep bereft of your embrace?” Morgana asked, her eyes sparkling in the dark.

The icy hand closed again around Morgause’s heart. “Then come closer, my love, for neither can I.”

The bedsheets rustled as Morgana shifted closer and closer until her breath warmed Morgause’s cool cheek. Morgause slouched slightly and turned to her so that their foreheads could rest together. “At least now we are closer.”

“Would that you were closer still,” Morgana whispered pleadingly.

“Hush,” Morgause soothed, kissing her, though their lips met strangely at the odd angle. She slipped her hand out into the cold and quickly under Morgana’s sheets to lace their lingers together and Morgana’s mouth opened to her. They kissed slow and deep, tingles spreading over their weary bodies. “I am here now, closer than we could have hoped for. The King’s ignorance has served us well.”

“Would that his age serve us better and the night claim him,” Morgana murmured darkly.

Morgause shuddered and pretended not to have heard Morgana’s words. Treason enough passed between their lips. She preferred it when Morgana had defended him.

 

 

...

 

 

 

The purple bruise of the sky of was gently giving way to the pale flush of morning. They had been riding for nigh on eight days by then. Anwen had been heavy with child when they had set out and now she cradled their babe at her breast. Brea had been born at the top of a great hill on the second morning, a strong wailing thing that would have given them away if the army was closer behind them. That didn’t matter to Elyan though. His whole world had changed the moment he saw her big brown eyes. They looked just like Gwen’s had when she had been born. He had only been a child then and Gwen had been much smaller and darker too. Their father had joked that it was all the screaming she did, bringing her blood to the surface like a blush did once she reached childhood. He wondered if she still blushed, wondered if she would smile that bright smile of hers when she first saw Brea.

“How is she?” he called to his wife, sitting up in his saddle so that he might see over the blankets to catch a glimpse of his daughter’s face.

“Hungry. She’s going to be a big one,” Anwen answered, gathering up the reigns with one hand and kicking her bay mare on towards the city walls. Like the castle itself, the walls were made of a light grey stone that seemed to glitter in the low light. She had never seen them before. She had never been out of her village before, not really.

“She’s going to be strong, my Brea,” Elyan smiled. “I just hope her aunt will forgive me for not sending word of the wedding. She was always better with Father’s swords than I was. Better at forging them too. I think Father sometimes wished that I was the girl and she the boy. It would have made things a lot easier.”

Anwen turned to look over her shoulder, cradling Brea tighter. “I cannot see them in the distance anymore. It seems Guinevere may be all we have to worry about.”

“Guinevere and Camelot’s King. We have outridden the army for now but they will not be far behind,” Elyan said with a frown. “Ten days at the most. There is no doubt that its Camelot they’re headed to. The wouldn’t have dared cross the border otherwise. ”

“Halt!” came the city guard’s booming voice, echoing in the quiet of the dawn. “The city gates are shut ‘till morn.”

Elyan reigned up his horse and looked pointedly up at the lightening sky. “We are in a hurry and I see the sun rising in the east. Anwen?”

“I too see the sun,” Anwen agreed, shaking the light blonde hair from her eyes. They were far from the gates still, so she needed to shout to be heard.“I have a babe less than two weeks old and we have family in the city.”

As if to aid their plight, Brea began to cry. Anwen broke her gaze with the guard and fussed her babe, trying to quieten her before she broke into one of her deafening tantrums.

The guard’s eyes – the only part of his face she could see – pinched in thought as he watched Anwen and her daughter.

“We have word for the King from the border,” Elyan tried, knowing it could either win them their passage into the city or seal their fate outside of it. “Urgent word whose passage he will not thank for delaying.”

Sighing, the guard banged on the oaken door at his back. “Open up, lads. It’s almost day at any rate.” Then he looked back to the couple on horseback. “I’ll be for it if what you’ve got to say isn’t to His Majesty’s liking.”

“It won’t be,” Anwen whispered so only Brea could hear, “I can be certain of that.”

 

 

 

...

 

 

 

“How are you settling back into civilisation?” Uther asked, looking over a scroll detailing the news from the latest scouting trip to the north. It was an exceedingly short scroll that Morgana doubted gave much news beyond another valley of failed crops, certainly nothing to draw away his attention. He would not be talking to her if it was.

 Her jaw clenched at the implications of his words. “It is good to be back within the city. The journey north is never a good one, especially when winter is calling.”

The King made a grunt of agreement. “No matter how fair the city, we all wish it was farther south come the dark months. We will all be distracted this winter though, with a new prince to prepare for.”

Morgana smiled genuinely, stroking her stomach. “Gaius thinks it should not be long before he moves. I will be sure to tell you when he does.”

“I would like that.” Uther looked up from his scroll. “Your guard’s... sister?... Was Gaius able to do anything for her?”

“Cousin,” Morgana corrected. “No, he was not.” She took a deep breath. “I have called for the sleeping specialist you had come see me when I was a child. Sleeping maladies are best treated by such men, it seems, and Dorren is certainly the best in his field.”

In truth, he was the only one in his field that Morgana had heard of but she was not about to admit that to Uther.

“Gaius is a good physician, the best in the Kingdom,” Uther said a little tartly.

“Which is why I have sought help outside of the kingdom. Gaius’ expertise can only stretch so far. He himself admits his ignorance on the topic,” Morgana said diplomatically. “I thought he would appreciate some external input.”

For a moment, Uther considered her point. “True enough. There has not been much call for him to develop his knowledge in that area.”

“And it may be that we can persuade Dorren to stay. I might have problems sleeping myself once your heir is here,” Morgana smiled, trying her best to see the good in her husband. He was not altogether unreasonable. Just a little stubborn. Once he had an idea in his head, once he had taken a position on something, there was no swaying him. Morgana thought it made him a flawed ruler but she would never say it aloud, not even to Morgause or ever her Gwen, to whom she confided all.

Laughter light up Uther’s features. “I do not doubt it. He has proven to be strong willed already. One can only imagine what he will be like with a lung full of air at his disposal.”

Morgana laughed, though the reinforcement of Uther’s theory that her new courage came from the babe stung like a knife.  She wondered if she would ever gain his respect as an equal or as damn close to equal as a woman and man can be. “Exactly.”

“There is a feast tonight to celebrate your return and the coming of my son. It was supposed to be a surprise but with your failure to turn up to a dinner you knew wholly of, I cannot rely on you to turn up to one that you do not,” Uther proclaimed, distracted again by his puny scroll. Morgana was sure that he could just not look her in the eye. “It’s about time the kingdom heard the good news. If news spreads quickly enough, the peasants should flock to the tournament to catch a glimpse of you heavy.”

Not for the first time that morning, Morgana bit her tongue to stop herself from talking her way into a slap. The First Company of knights all knew already, they must do. They had seen her travelling gown stretched tight over her stomach and she had caught Percival looking more than once. Beyond that, Emilie must had guessed, even though Morgana was yet to catch a glimpse of her in Camelot. Gwen had sent her out for more silk two days on the run to make sure she got the best from both of Camelot’s Persian suppliers. And of each colour or pattern she had been bit to get twice the usual amount so that panels could be replaced as Morgana had the need for them. Fleur too had let her gaze momentarily fall to the swell at Morgana’s middle at least twice whilst they had talked over blackberry cordial. Morgana very much doubted that it would take an announcement for Camelot to be buzzing with the news of an heir.

“We should capitalise on it, give the traders a subsidy keep the market open all week for the month around the tournament. We will reap the rewards if they economy takes a turn for the better,” Morgana suggested, whishing she had not spoken the moment the idea had come out of her mouth. She was not supposed to know about such things, never mind understand them and suggest solutions.

Uther gave her a sharp look. “Whatever would give you that idea?”

“Something my father did when I was a child. He gave the independent fishers at his port a subsidy during the clam season. It coincided with the winter so they were less inclined to go out if the sea was rough. With his help, they could afford to take the risk of losing or damaging their nets. So they went out to sea, even on bad days, and the port saw record catches. Everyone benefited, especially my father,” Morgana explained. “It put the port on the map and soon ships that traded far richer stock than fish were coming into the bay.”

Sighing, Uther dropped the scroll and rubbed his eyes. “I do not see how that applies.”

“If their profits see a rise, then we will have less poor knocking on our gates for a share of our already meagre grain,” Morgana reasoned. “We have money aplenty but food we do not have to spare.”

Uther thought for a moment but did not say anything more. He would never credit her with a good idea but she was doubtless that her suggestion would see the light of day in some form or other. Whether or not the King would respect her more for it was another matter entirely. Most probably, he would just be annoyed that neither he nor his advisors had thought about it first. However his mood towards had been about to turn, she never found out, for at that moment their breakfast was interrupted by a stout knock on the door.

Looking up from Morgana to the hall entrance, Uther bellowed, “Enter.”

 

 

...

 

 

Morgause felt a little nervous. She had never reprimanded a guard before and had never gone so far as to bring a chastised knight too their Commander. Still, there she was, stood by Leon’s side whilst they awaited Black, head of the east wing guards.

Leon’s office was a dark place not softened by any outfacing windows. The walls were lined with leather hangings bearing the family arms of every one of Leon’s predecessors going back three centuries. Morgause’s favourite was the simplest, a black rose on purple field, its spiny stem picked out in gold – the Wilde family crest. Her father had held Leon’s office, however briefly. Leon’s own crest was a silver and orange fox on a field of black and white diamonds. It suited him. Though the animal was smaller than some of the forest’s other predators, it was quick witted and deft at taking down its prey. Leon had some of the same virtues on the battlefield. It had been what had finally done for Morgause in the tournament. Their styles were just too alike – they had trained together, after all – and so it had been her lighter weight that had won him the fight.

“Tell me again what lead you to demand his presence here today,” Leon asked in a sympathetic tone. He was not questioning her judgement, rather making sure he had all the facts clear before Black arrived and tried to muddy them.

“Her Highness and I returned later to her chambers. We had been in the eastern tower. She was sending a letter by dove and took longer about it than she meant to. There was a dinner with the King that she missed,” Morgause explained again.

“And Black and his men were at Her Highness’s chambers on your return?”

“Yes. He was tart from the beginning. I explained, when raised the issue of the dinner, that Mor-” she caught herself in the middle of Morgana’s name. Leon pretended not to have noticed. She cleared her throat as if that had been what had caused her pause. “-Her Highness had forgotten, that she had been preoccupied. I also said that it was not my place to remind her, though in truth I too had forgotten. It was then he crossed the line, saying that I should not need to remind her.” Morgause’s anger threatened to boil over. “He spoke out against the Queen –  _to the Queen_. This cannot be tolerated.”

Leon put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I can assure you that it will not taken lightly.”

“She...” Morgause took a deep breath, ready to confide in her oldest friend. “She was worried earlier that evening that the people did not respect her.”

“Nothing could be further from the truth. The least of my men would die for her without question. They would carry out her orders over mine,” Leon said, his voice rising with his effort to try to stop the annoyance that Morgana could be made to feel that way from entering his voice.

“Which is why this guard’s remark came at such a poor time. It made my reassurances to her seem like a hollow lie.” The hand on Morgause’s shoulder tightened.

“I am sure that Her Highness would not believe that you could lie to her. Do you know why I sent you with her that day, on the ride?” Leon asked.

Morgause shook her head.

“You are the most honourable of my knights. You are the wisest and kindest. You show more chivalry than the rest of the First Company put together,” Leon explained. “No one else was close to being as worthy to protect our fair Queen as you. And His Majesty has seen that. Her Highness too. I saw how at ease with you she was on our short time journeying together. That is what a Queen needs in a guard above all, someone to confide in, someone to be almost a friend.” He smiled at her. “I am proud of you, Morgause. She looks... happier in herself.”

“She’s with child,” Morgause admitted.

“I know. Still, I cannot help but get the sense that having you at her side is helping beyond making her feel safer.”

Before fear could provoke Morgause into denying it, there was a knock at the door. It wasn’t Black.


	20. Chapter 20

 

When the news had come that a commoner had requested to see the King, Uther laughed. When the man at the door – a Courtyard Guard sent with the message from Ulric Drapper, head of the Grounds Guards – insisted that the message this commoner had to deliver was urgent, Uther put down his goblet of wine and gave the impatient intruder a sharp look. When the man dared to speak for a third time, there was a single word that stopped Uther from throwing him arrested on charges of Royal Defiance. That word was ‘ _invasion’_ and it hung heavy in the air. Uther rose to his feet on hearing it and made to leave, only delayed by Morgana’s hand on his arm.

“May I accompany you, Your Majesty?” Morgana asked, her head bowed subserviently. To look him in the eye would be seen as a challenge and she would be punished for acting as such in the presence of another.

There was a silence so long that Morgana did not think that her husband would answer.

“You may, Your Highness,” he agreed eventually. “You will be a welcome sight for any messenger loyal enough to bring news unbidden to my ear. He shall need no other reward.”

“Who could need reward beyond serving a King as kind and wise as you are, Your Majesty?” Morgana asked rhetorically.

Clearly pleased, Uther brought a gloved hand to her chin and lifted her head up. He smiled at her, hand still gripping her chin as he kissed her briefly. Morgana wondered whether he meant for his grip to hurt or whether he genuinely did not know his own strength. Either way, when Uther strode once more for the door, her chin was red and her cheeks snowy white. She took only a moment to compose herself before following.

 

 

…

 

 

The hall in which the messenger was to be received was the lesser of the castle’s two great throne rooms. Whilst the other was large, airy and splendid with wide windows and space for some two hundred courtiers, the room in which they awaited the news was rather more claustrophobic and musty, despite its more regular use. It was where the King heard petitions from his people and sat judge over lesser trials. Gathered that morning were less than half of Uther’s court. Gaius was stood somewhere amongst the middle ranking men of the council, making his presence known with the occasional ‘tut’ piercing the cloying silence. Sir Leon stood by the King’s right side – this being a matter of the Kingdom’s security – with Sir Gwaine and Sir Percival of the First Company of Knights behind him. Morgause had been waiting in the throne room when Morgana arrived a moment behind the King. She had escorted the Queen up to the dais and stood now by Morgana’s left side, a little behind her.

Just when Morgana feared that they would be waiting an eternity, the great doors at the end of the hall opened to reveal three shadowy figures. As they stepped forward into the light of the room, it became clear that the man in the middle of the two guards was someone Morgana had met before. More than that, the man was someone she _knew_. Or at least _had known_ , once.

“What is your name?” Uther bellowed before the three men could make it even half way along the scarlet-carpeted walkway to the dais.

“Elyan Pewter,” Morgana answered for him, her voice echoing through the hall as if she were its only inhabitant. She looked straight into the man’s eyes and he looked straight back at her, recognition evading him.

The King turned to her, the lines on his face deepened in a frown. “I have heard it said that my fair Queen knows the name of every citizen of Camelot. I must say, I thought it to be idle fancy.”

“Alas,” Morgana sighed, no longer having to raise her voice now that every soul in the room was listening to her. She could almost hear Morgause’s whispering in her ear, telling her that was true power, power she was born to wield. “You were right. I can boast nothing as grand as that. Only, that I have encountered our messenger before when were both a good deal younger.”

That was the moment Elyan seemed to realise who she was. He dropped her gaze.

“He is brother to my handmaiden,” Morgana supplied when Uther’s frown only deepened. “A smith. Or at least he was when he left the city some six years gone.”

“I am still, My Lady,” Elyan said quickly, his gaze snapping back up to her almost eagerly. “I built my own forge.”

“ _Your Queen_ ,” Uther corrected. “And as touching as this reunion is, I believe there are more pressing matters to be discussed.” He gestured to the gathered men. “We are all waiting, Smith.”

“Your Majesty, I have a forge on hilly land overlooking the northern border with Worcester. Twelve days ago I saw fires in the forest on the other side of the border. I thought it was just a hunting camp, we see plenty them. But over the next few days, the number of lights had grown each time the moon rose. Eight days ago the lights had moved closer to the border, much closer,” Elyan relayed. “I took the swiftest horses in the village and made for the city.”

Uther sat forward in his seat. “I had scouts come back from the northern lands not a day ago. They reported no such lights.”

“As I said, everyone in the village thought it to be another hunting camp. They aren’t uncommon, even this late in the season,” Elyan continued. “We saw no scouts.”

Uther scoffed. “You are not supposed to. If you had then they would not be doing their jobs.”

“I apologise, You Majesty. I am only a simple smith and know nothing of the ways of war or service. I can count though and I counted over two hundred fires that last night.”

A wave of hushed whispers spread through the hall. Morgana turned to see that her husband’s eyes had turned cold and hard. She remembered her father once telling her that you could estimate the size of an opponent’s army just by counting their fires of a night. Men usually kept to twelve men per fire averaged out from the Commanders to the squires. With over two hundred fires, that made for an army of at least two thousand four hundred men. That was not the full strength of half Worcester so Morgana would guess the number to be closer to be a clean two and a half thousand men – that was almost half of Camelot’s full strength, including draftees.

“Guards, escort him to the town and give him a reward. Tree gold coins and four silvers will suffice,” Uther commanded, not looking down at the bewildered messenger at all. It seemed that Elyan had spoken truly and did not know just how big an army he had proclaimed to be heading Camelot’s way.

The King waited for Elyan to be ushered from the hall before turning to Leon and issuing his next command. “I want four dozen knights sent out to scout to the border. Your patrol will stretch the length of the Kingdom and will be made up of experienced knights ready to fight should they come across anything – scouts, fore riders, the whole bloody army of Worcester. Equip each with an Iberian horn. The like have not been seen in Edwin’s Kingdom. If it is a Worcester invasion then I want our communications to go unlistened to.”

Leon nodded. “Your Majesty. I will send Companies 10 to 18 enough caged messenger doves that twenty could be shot down with word from each Company and still the message reach the citadel.  What of the men who will remain here?”

“Are you not battle ready at all times?”

“Of course, You Majesty. I only meant-”

“I know what you meant, Commander. We will deal with that eventuality if and when it is called for,” Uther said calmly, his hands clenching hard on the arms of his great oak throne.

“If you do not wish the people to know then might I suggest that you stop Elyan Pewter leaving the castle,” Morgana interjected, knowing full well that she was speaking out of turn and not much caring. “The man may not know exactly what he has told us but other’s will should he repeat the tale. Have him put up in one of the bedrooms and I will send his sister to greet him. He will think that you are being kind, not careful.”

Uther’s initial instinct to shoot her down for her insolence was thwarted by Leon’s agreement with his Queen. “We can house him with the knights from lesser families. If he is a smith then we can put him to work mending armour to pay for his keep.”

“Very well,” Uther conceded, waving his hand to signify the closing of proceedings. “The core council will meet this afternoon before my son’s feast.”

“The feast is still going ahead tonight?” Morgana asked in a whisper.

“Of course. If we leave it until you get any heavier then there will be no need for an announcement at all,” Uther sighed, saying the words good and slow as if she were a child who might not understand them. She was well aware of how tight her gowns were fitting but she was sure she could get away with it for another couple of weeks at the least if she stuck to less close-fitting gowns with more material.

“Very good, Your Majesty.” She smiled sweetly. “You, of course, know best.”

For the second time that day, Uther smiled at her subservience.

 

 

…

 

 

“Is it really that noticeable?” Morgana asked as Morgause closed and locked the door behind them. She skirted her right hand over her stomach to trace the swell. “I know Gaius said that I had grown more from Eloise’s physician’s measurements than he would have expected, but he did not seem to think I was any farther along than was originally thought.”

“It is noticeable, Morgana. The last half week has seen more change than the two weeks before that.” Morgause walked around to face her and smiled softly. “But I am no expert in the bearing of children. I only find what I am looking for. I see because I already know that you are with child. Others may not.”

“But you are inclined to agree with Uther?”  Morgana sighed, smiling despite herself from how hard Morgause was trying to please her.

“I am, my love,” Morgause said, stepping closer. “Though will it that is the only time I will have to say that.”

“Gwen has not had time to run me up anything from that new silk and now she is with her brother…”

“Hush,” Morgause soothed, brushing back the ebony black hair that had fallen in front of Morgana’s eyes.

“I have nothing that will hide it more than this,” Morgana frowned, gazing down at the pale and bright blue material flowing from the belt beneath her breasts. “And I cannot wear this tonight.”

“Why hide it,” Morgause began, bringing her hands up to rest on the swell of Morgana’s stomach, her thumbs stroking the soft skin through the cotton and silk, “when you can wear a dress that lets the whole world see it?” She stepped in even closer and slid her arms around the small of Morgana’s back, drawing her close pressing a kiss to her cheek. “You are carrying their future King or Queen, my future King or Queen. Let them love and worship you for it even more than they already do.”

“I cannot,” Morgana murmured, blushing. “Whether you agree with it or not, Morgause, my job is to be an ornament at these things. Tonight will be all about Uther and his son. I am required only to look pretty and worthy to be his Queen by his side.”

“And you do not think that you are beautiful like this?” Morgause asked incredulously. “Morgana, the day I first saw you, you were at your most beautiful – innocent and hopeful, resplendent in white. That day when we rode out to the Queen’s Valley, you were at you most beautiful – bold and daring, purposefully drawing attention to yourself with the clothes you chose to wear. When you awoke from your nightmare on the forest floor and allowed me to kiss you, you were at your most beautiful – dark like the night itself and pale as the perfect moon. The next night, when I finally had you bare before me, you were at your most beautiful – nervous and excited and perfect from head to toe. When we played in the clear stream on the mountain, you were at your most beautiful – bright eyed and happy with your clothes sculpted to your curves by the icy water. On the island, when you were laid out exhausted beneath me, you were at your most beautiful – thrumming with the magic of the place and blushing like a maiden. Right here, right now, you are at your most beautiful – your body ripening with a great ruler inside you and fire in your heart. There has not been a moment when you have not been the most beautiful creature on this earth,” Morgause promised, her hands cupping Morgana’s flushed cheeks. “No one has ever been as beautiful as you are now, do you hear me?”

“I do,” Morgana answered, though it was plain in her eyes that she did not.

Morgause sighed and moved away to shed her armour. She would have to be in it all night. A few hours out of it would do her good.

“Do not worry about the army, Morgana,” she said as she pulled off her gloves and dropped them onto Morgana’s bed. “Sir Leon is not only a good fighter but a good negotiator. He will make sure that one way or another, King Edwin’s army does not make it to the City of Camelot.”

“I believe in my knights,” Morgana assured her, her voice a soft and close at Morgause’s back. “You and Sir Leon especially. Our two champions.”

“Camelot has only one champion,” Morgause reminded her. Leon had beaten her at the tournament to take the title and he had deserved it.

“I am Camelot and she is me. You are my champion and by virtue are hers too,” Morgana said, making quick work of the buckles and straps at Morgause’s back. Within moments, she was lifting the heavy plate free. “Do not forget that should anything happen to Sir Leon, you will be our Kingdom’s representative at the great tournament.”

Morgause closed her eyes and did not argue, letting Morgana rid her of her armour. She would let the other woman have her pretty dreams. They certainly seemed to make life sweeter for her. And having Morgana take her armour from her like it was her duty and her honour was definitely sweet for Morgause too.

“Why are Worcester marching on Camelot?” Morgana asked after a moment, still working. “I thought there was to be a treaty signed whilst we were in Mermering.”

“It did not come to pass,” Morgause said vaguely. She did not want to be the one to tell Morgana that the northlands were marching down on them because her husband had bedded the King’s daughter.

“Why not? We offered them generous terms. The trade route through our land will bring them to the ports to trade for themselves. They will no longer have to pay tax to import sea trade from other kingdoms. Is that not right?” Morgana asked. She thought she had understood the bargain that had been made. Perhaps she was better to keep out of such things.

“No, you have the right of it. It was an attractive deal. We were to have their surplus grain and farmstock at the cheapest price in exchange for the right to trade at our ports. The problem was not the treaty itself,” Morgause assured her.

“Then what?” Morgana asked. “Why are we to go to war with them when we ought to be friends?”

Morgause prayed silently to the gods to give her the right words.

“It was Uther, was it not? He… he was intimate with Queen Alise, King Edwin’s wife?” Morgana asked, her hands stopping their work and leaving Morgause entirely.

“Princess Elena,” Morgause whispered. “She was due to be married next summer.”

All of the warmth drained from Morgana’s body. It hurt like an arrow through the heart. If only she had not left. She would never forgive herself if her people suffered for her selfishness.

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

 

Morgana closed her eyes and relaxed into the honeyed-water. The sun was not yet at its highest in the sky and already enough had happened to make her weary and unsettled. If she was to play her part well that night she would need to be rested and refreshed, and the best way to do that was to wash away what had already come to pass that day and let the heat of the water soothe her aching soul. With Gwen away at her brother’s side, Emilie had been called for to fetch water for Morgana’s bath before being sent off on some errand of Morgause’s invention to see that Morgana was left in peace.

“How is it, my love?” Morgause asked in a voice so soft that it caressed Morgana’s ears like sweet music.

“Just what I needed,” Morgana replied, her lips turning up into a smile. As much as she treasured Gwen, she had missed Morgause looking after her. There was something about it that felt so right, so natural.

“May I join you, my Queen?”

Morgana’s heartbeat quickened when she heard the words and she bit her lips, nodding. When she heard Morgause’s voice again, it came from closer behind her.

“Move forward,” Morgause commanded simply and Morgana obeyed. She was rewarded when Morgause slipped into the water behind her and wound an arm around her waist, pulling her back to rest between her knight’s thighs and against her chest. “What a beauty you are,” Morgause whispered in her ear, whilst one of her hands rubbed big soothing circles on her swollen belly. She was determined that before Morgana left for the feast that night that she would believe that she was the most beautiful woman in the kingdom and that being with child did nothing to lessen Morgause’s desire for her. “I am the luckiest knight in all the kingdoms.”

“It is I who am lucky,” Morgana sighed, shivering from Morgause’s touch. There was something worshipful in the way she caressed her stomach that made Morgana hopeful. “Lucky, that you are so forgiving and understanding of this,” Morgana continued, covering Morgana’s hand with her own.

“No, my love, I assure you that it is I who is lucky,” Morgause murmured against her neck as her other hand moved up to massage one of Morgana’s beautiful breasts. She smiled when Morgana moaned and arched up into her touch. “I am the one who gets to see you bloom. Be glad of it, Morgana. Be as proud of it as I am. Do you not see the raw love in Gwen’s eyes when she looks at you? Did you not see the pride in your Aunts eyes? Or the desire still aflame in mine? I ache for you more than ever, my love. Never doubt that.”

“Show me,” Morgana begged timidly, her eyes still closed.

“It would be my honour,” Morgause promised, her legs shifting in the water until they were over Morgana’s, parting them gently and as wide as the bath would allow. For a moment, Morgause paused and looked down at Morgana, naked and open. It was enough to make her head spin and her whole body thrum and tingle. This was _her_ Queen, _her_ lover, _her_ Morgana. And she was spread out just for her. This was what made Morgause sure that she was the lucky one.

Pressing a kiss to the hollow behind Morgana’s ear, she gave Morgana’s stomach one last caress before guiding her hand lower, over the lower curve of her swollen stomach and between her parted legs.

“You are perfection incarnate,” she whispered into Morgana’s ear, slipping her hand in to feel how slick Morgana was already for her. The feel of the slippery fluid  coating her  fingers sent a shock of sensation to her groin and her hand tightened on Morgana’s breast, fingers running roughly over her hard nipple to make Morgana’s hips buck and a strangled cry tear from her lips.

“You have to be quiet,” Morgause reminded her, amused. She moved the hand between Morgana’s legs from stroking her inner thigh to trailing teasingly over where Morgana’s moisture was collecting. It never failed to amaze Morgause just how wet Morgana always was for her, just how eager she was. “Keep those cries for only me to hear. They are _for me_ , after all.”

“Yes. Please, I need…” Morgana begged, far too wound up by the day to take it as slow as they usually did. She needed the release that only Morgause had ever been able to give her. She needed that sweet euphoria to blot out everything else until all that mattered was Morgause’s hands, her lips and the scraping of her hard nipples against Morgana’s back.

Obliging, Morgause parted her Queen and found her sensitive clit with her index finger. With a kiss to Morgana’s neck, she began to circle it teasingly. Slowly at first but building up speed, faster and harder. “You are a Goddess,” she whispered fiercely, switching from circling to rubbing. “Say it.”

“I am Goddess,” Morgana panted, her hips canting, rubbing back against Morgause, making her knight’s breath catch, with every downstroke of her clever fingers.

“A Goddess,” Morgause repeated, slipping her hand down so that it was her thumb rubbing Morgana’s clit and her index finger sliding down to circle Morgana’s entrance. Her other hand moved to Morgana’s other breast, greedily filling her palm with it and squeezing. They were swelling just like Morgana’s belly and Morgause _loved_ it. There was nothing more beautiful about Morgana’s body than those lovely full breasts and there was nothing more gratifying than knowing just how much Morgana loved her lavishing attention on them. She only wished that she could take them into her mouth and suckle the honeyed-water from them. Instead, she brought her lips up to suck the sweet-tasting droplet from the lobe of Morgana’s ear, whispering, “A Goddess to be worshipped. _My_ Goddess.”

“Yes,” Morgana gasped. “Oh – Gods – I am yours.”

“ _Mine_ ,” Morgause agreed, swiftly pushing two fingers inside Morgana and setting up a quick rhythm in time with the fingers of her other hand pinching her aching nipples.

Morgana’s head fell back against her and Morgause craned her head to claim her mouth, slipping her tongue inside to take her completely and utterly, just as Morgana liked, just as she needed.

“Only mine,” Morgause gasped into her lover’s mouth, breaking the kiss to trail her lips over the honey-sweet skin of Morgana’s proud and noble neck. “Mine and your own. No one else’s.” She punctuated her last words by thrusting another finger in alongside the other two that Morgana’s slick walls were already clamping down on so deliciously. The fit was so tight that Morgause knew she would have her Queen coming for her in seconds, unable to stand being that full.

She was determined to give Morgana the best climax she had ever given her to block out her pig of a husband and show her just how much she was wanted. She pressed her thumb down hard on her trembling Queen’s clit, raking her nail over it as she twisted her nipple and curled her three fingers up inside her Queen to send her hurtling over the edge. Afraid she might scream, Morgause brought up her hand from Morgana’s breast to cover her mouth, silencing her as she lost control and cried out Morgause’s name and wept, utterly overwhelmed.

“There, that is how a Goddess like you should be worshiped,” Morgause panted, still thrusting her fingers gently in and out of Morgana bring her down from her climax, Morgana’s walls still clenching  down on them again and again and again. Until, finally, the tension fled from Morgana’s body and she lay back bonelessly against her knight and champion.

“You are the Goddess,” Morgana whispered breathlessly.

Smiling, Morgause kissed her cheek and pulled her fingers out, slipping her hand down to give one of Morgana’s breasts a last squeeze.

“No!” Morgana gasped, her hand coming shakingly down to press Morgause deeper back inside. “I like it like this, please.”

“As my Queen commands,” Morgause whispered against her temple, pressing her three fingers in even deeper, as deep as they could go. Her other hand, she brought down to once more caress Morgana’s swollen stomach. “You are going to look so beautiful tonight showing this off to all of Camelot, my Goddess. You will be the envy of half the court and the fantasy of the other half. And I will be by you side, proud beyond belief that you are mine.”

And for the first time, Morgana truly believed her.

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

When Morgana had sent for her, Gwen had been terrified. The useless guards who came to fetch her knew less than nothing about what the Queen wanted and Gwen could only remember Morgana ever summoning her once before, to tend to her in Uther’s chambers the morning after her wedding. The fact that she was not being taken in the direction of the King’s chambers was enough to slow her racing heart a bit but she still could not shake the feeling that something was not right. That feeling only deepened when they turned into the barracks quarter of the lower castle. Surely her Queen would not have sent for her from here? The fear that she truly was being replaced by Emilie Floriette came upon her and she had the sudden urge to turn and run back to Morgana’s chambers and beg forgiveness for whatever she had done wrong.

But before the notion could ever truly take hold, she was stopped in front of an unfamiliar door that was not quite closed. The stouter of the two guards, a man Gwen recognised as having delivered Morgause’s bed, pushed open the door and beckoned for her to enter. Puzzled, Gwen stepped into the dark room and immediately saw two figures – no, three, for there was a babe too – huddled close together whispering to each other. The moment her eyes began to adjust to the low light, she recognised the tall man dressed in cotton and leather as none other her own brother, whom she had not seen for nigh on six years, not since the day he had argued with their father and left the city with no so much as a goodbye for his little sister who loved him so dearly.

“Elyan!” she cried, not sure whether to weep for joy or scream at him for not even having come home for their father’s funeral.

“Gwen!” he cried in return, making to cross the room and hug her but instead stopping short when Gwen’s palm collided with his cheek in a deafening slap.

Gwen gasped and pulled her arm back, tears welling up in her eyes. “Oh Elyan, my brother, I did not mean…”

“I deserved that, little sister,” Elyan admitted with a grin, rubbing his cheek where she had slapped him.

Incensed by his audacity, she moved to strike him again, only to have him catch her by the wrist and pull her into a hug that she was far too weak to fight her way out of.

“Let me go!” she cried. “Let me go! You have no right to call me sister!”

“As much as you may hate me right now, Guinevere, you are still my blood. You will always be my sister,” he whispered as the guards closed the door and left them alone.

Gwen snorted with indignant laughter. “So I was your sister when I had to arrange our father’s funeral alone? I was your sister when I had sit vigil over his body alone?” His arms loosened and she pulled back. “I have no family but my Queen. It was her who paid for our father to be buried in the best grave a man could hope for and her who snuck out of the castle to sit with me in the churchground all night in the rain. You did not even answer my letter. Morgana even made sure it got to you by sending it with one of the squires and having him read it to you, so do not even pretend that you did not get it.”

Elyan hung his head in shame. “It is true that I did not come when you called. I was still angry with father and could not see anything but that.”

“What about me? You could have come for me!” Gwen insisted, tears streaming from her eyes as she fell into his embrace, her fingers tightening in the cotton of his shirt as her sobs overcame her. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, her crying subsided enough for her to remember the woman and the babe. She pulled back and looked past her brother to see the woman watching them intently, her young babe cradled to her chest.

“Guinevere, this is Anwen, my wife,” Elyan said walking over to his wife and taking the babe from her. “And this,” he began, laying the babe in Gwen’s arms, “is my daughter, your niece, Brea Guinevere Pewter.”

A single tear slipped down Gwen’s cheek and landed on the babe’s sweet button nose. She bent her head to kiss it away and found that more tears joined it when Brea stirred, opened her eyes and grasped up at her with a tiny golden hand.

“She knows her aunt when she sees her,” Anwen smiled, moving past her husband to stand in front of Gwen. “Hello, sister. It is good to finally meet you. There is nothing Elyan loves to talk about more than his little sister. I can only apologise that you have to hear of little Brea and our marriage so late. It was all so rushed, truth be told. A whirlwind romance they call it.” She smiled again and Gwen was in no doubt that that smile could have captured her brother’s heart.

“I blame my brother for that, not you,” Gwen assured her, and Anwen’s smile brightened even more, before she leant it to kiss Gwen’s cheek.

“You have the knack with babes, I see. My little one does nothing but cry when she wakes, but she seems beyond content in your arms,” Anwen said softly, brushing her fingers lightly over her babe’s head.

Gwen smiled, her stomach fluttering. She wondered if Morgana’s babe would be so quick to settle in her arms. She prayed that he or she would. She had been able to think of nothing else since Morgana told her, than holding the little babe when he or she was newly born. There were so many people who would be putting so many expectations on Morgana’s babe, but all Gwen wanted was to see Morgana with her babe. Then, she thought, she would have all she could ever want.

“Do you want her back?” she asked Anwen.

Anwen shook her head. “She seems happy with you. Why don’t we sit down and talk some. We have a lot to get to know about each other and a lot for you and my husband to catch up on.”

That was when Gwen remembered where they were and how strange it was. Elyan wasted no time in filling her in.

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

“You look beautiful, Morgana,” Gwen sighed when she stood back to admire her work. She had found one of Morgana’s mother’s dresses from when she had attended a tournament at court when she was carrying Morgana. It was ivory and light, both fitted and flowing; perfectly showing the swell of Morgana’s babe, whilst being comfortable enough that Morgana could wear it all night. The bust was covered in fine white embroidery and little white flowers fashioned from silk and even softer fabrics that Gwen had never seen before. The curve of the front panel fit perfectly to Morgana’s stomach, as if the dress had been made her for that very day, not for her mother some two decades earlier.

Turning around, Morgana eyed herself in the mirror and smiled. She did look beautiful. That her mother had worn this very dress, showing her off to the world when she was still inside her was enough to make her beam with pride for her own babe.

“Thank you, Gwen. It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“All I did was put a couple of little stitches in it,” Gwen assured her. “Is your hair okay? I can change it if you would like?”

“No,” Morgana smiled, “I like it.”

Her hair was done in a way she had never had it before. It was a style that Morgana had seen in a painting in Mermering and had described to Gwen on her return. She could never have believed that Gwen could get it so perfect on her first attempt, when she had not even beheld the painting herself. Carefully, Gwen had crossed silky black strips of Morgana’s hair over the crown of her head in a loose plait-like lattice with large diamonds between the strands. At the back, her hair was collected at the top of her neck in a beautiful bun of the same ebony lattice woven perfectly together. Wispy black strands fell intentionally loose from her forehead all the way back the bun itself, as was customary for young women to soften such looks. The undoubted masterpiece was not  Morgana’s hair, however, but the elegant gold crown perched atop her head. She had worn it for her coronation and never since. It had been designed by the best metal worker in the kingdoms to embody the vines of the Le Fay heraldry and the dragon of Pendragon into something of such beauty that Morgana could never have imagined.

“Thank you,” Morgana murmured, turning around and smiling at her softly, her eyes bright with joy. “Now go and spend some more time with your family. We cannot have me keeping you away from them.”

“I could not very well let you go to a feast without preparing you myself. We both have reputations to uphold,” Gwen said with a smile.

Morgana laughed, making Gwen’s heart flutter. “You are right as always. Now shoo and arrange for your brother and his family to come and take lunch with us tomorrow. I need to meet this niece of yours.”

Gwen’s smile bloomed. No other servant could ever dream of such love from their mistress as she got every day.  “Yes, Your Highness. It would be my honour to have you meet her.”

“Oh, and Gwen,” Morgana called as her maid turned to leave. When Gwen stopped and turned back to her, Morgana crossed the room to kiss her cheek thrice. “I am _so_ happy for you. I cannot wait to see you with this babe.”

Gwen blushed deeply and Morgana added. “Can you send in Morgause from the hallway? I want her to see me first.”

When Morgause entered the room, Morgana’s breath left her lungs and she thought for a moment that she was dreaming. Her knight was not clad in her usual silvery steel plate but one of polished red-gold bronze that glinted and shimmered in the candlelight as if it was spotted with a hundred thousand stars. Over her shoulders was draped her scarlet Pendragon cape emblazoned with a gold dragon and held in place with a broach of twisted golden vines – Le Fey vines. The vines too were at her waist, cinching in her mail in the form of a gold belt to show off the curves of her breasts and the flare of her hips. And at her neck, Morgana could just see the fine chain disappearing down to where the green stone lay above her heart.

“Oh, Gods,” Morgana swore, feeling a little faint. “What…”

“Sir Leon commissioned a new formal uniform for the First Company, to reflect its new dual purpose as protectors of the Pendragon Kingdom and the Le Fey Queen, now that I am your guard. I have known of it since before we left for Mermering but did not want to tell you lest the King forbid it. But he did not. He approved of the design and here it is,” Morgause said a little shyly. “Do you approve, my Queen?”

“Yes. Oh, yes. I approve,” Morgana whispered, rushing to her and kissing her, unable to stand not doing any longer. “By the Gods, you have never looked so beautiful and strong.”

Morgause blushed, her hand trembling when she stroked Morgana’s cheek. “And you. You will be the death of me with such beauty.”

Touched to the point where tears stung at her eyes, Morgana kissed her again, before pulling back and holding out her hand. “Escort me, fair knight?”

“It would be, as always, my honour.”

 

 

 

…

 

 

When Morgana entered the great hall on Morgause’s arm, the whole room turned and gasped. Slowly, she walked through the crowd which parted for her like the sea did for the One God’s servant Moses. Behind her, Morgause followed silently, her golden shadow. When she reached the dais, she turned and let Morgause bow to her before leaving to join the other Knights of the First Company at their table of honour. Alone, Morgana climbed the four stone steps to find Uther waiting for her with his hand outstretched to guide her to her seat. She had promised herself that she would not think on what had happened with Princess Elena. He was still her King and her husband, and it was his child inside her that was bringing her such hope and happiness.

“May I present,” Uther announced holding up her hand at shoulder height and kissing it, “My Queen, Morgana Pendragon of the line of our valiant protector and fine friend of Camelot, the late Sir Gorlois Le Fay.”

Morgana smiled down at the people as they raised their golden goblets up to salute her.

“And many I also present,” Uther began again, placing his hand on her swollen stomach, “the future King of Camelot, my son and heir whom my Queen is carrying.”

Raucous applause and cries filled the room, and Morgana, overcame, wept.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgause is called to the Commander when scouts return with news of the Worcester army.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much for sticking with this story. I know that it has been over a month since it was updated but I have been sitting my finals at university and am due to graduate next month. The good news is that there should be a lot more updates over the summer!
> 
> And please, if you do read this story, take the time to comment. I really appreciate it.

 

A day passed. And then another.

War was coming.

Everyone knew it.

But no one knew quite when.

Through those cool, lonely nights, Morgause’s uneven breaths echoed endlessly in the silence. Sleep would not come to her, making Morgana too lie awake, unable to settle with the knowledge that it was her bringing her Knight such torment. The very thought of it made her stomach quiver and her eyes burn in the darkness, as if she had bathed them in briny tears and stared into the blackest fire.

She knew what faced them. The war meant sacrifice. It meant sending out Camelot’s very best – it’s very dearest – without certainty that any of them would come home.

Still, they would go. Every one of them. Every green boy would think it an adventure. Not a one of those boys would come back, for the ones that did would be far from green. Morgana knew. She had seen war, had felt the pain of it like a wound that would never heal.

And Morgause… She would feel the pain more than anyone else. Stay in Camelot and she would think herself a dishonourable, cowardly deserter. It would prove everyone right who said that a woman belonged in the marriage bed, not on the battlefield. Go, and she would be breaking every promise she had ever made to her Queen, whom she had promised to protect. That would make her as void of honour as Uther, she would think. Plainly, the decision was not one that she could herself make.

“You must go,” Morgana whispered hoarsely into the night. “I _order_ you to go.”

“We are not at war. Not yet.” Morgause’s voice came back a murmur from somewhere in the darkness beside the bed. There was a loud, raggedy sigh. “I do not want to leave you. That is not why I cannot find sleep.”

 “I know that, but I could not bear you staying here and hating me. Or having my people suffer greater through my own selfishness. Not again.”

Morgause did not argue with that point. She had given up on it. Morgana was determined to blame herself for Uther’s failings.

With a rustling of cotton and the creak of wood, suddenly Morgana heard Morgause’s voice from closer. “What real difference could I make amongst hundreds of knights?”

Despite the coal-blackness of the night, when Morgana reached out, her palm instantly found Morgause’s cool cheek. It startled her, how soft it was and how empty of tears. “All the difference in the world, my love. All the difference in the world. With you on the battlefield, we could do nothing but return victorious.”

She felt Morgause’s cheek swell with a smile. “With your faith in me… I could… I could almost do anything.”

“Then go and win me a war. Or better still fight to avoid a battle becoming a war. I am not the only one who believes in you. Sir Leon, your Commander, he thinks you to be a fine knight. We spoke at the feast and he said that he hoped that you had done the brotherhood of Knights proud in your service to me so far, and that he knows you will have done. And when I told him of your bravery and honour, he told me that you are finest Knight he has ever had the honour to serve beside.”

“Commanders have to say that to the Queen, especially when that Knight is her guard.”  There was a wavering in her tone, begging Morgana to prove her wrong.

“If you truly believe that is the only reason for his words, then nothing I can say could change your mind. Not when you know how true Leon is, how honourable. I do not think he could ever tell a lie,” Morgana said, letting her hand fall away from Morgause’s cheek to intentionally leave it cold.

“Every man and woman lies. Sometimes it is the most honourable thing to do.”

“Such wisdom I cannot contend with,” Morgana said quietly, almost teasing.

The room fell silent.

“I only wish that you could sleep. Then, mayhaps, your thoughts would be clearer and your eyes a little brighter come morning,” Morgana sighed.

“With you in my arms, I may manage sleep,” Morgause said softly, asking.

Morgana smiled. “You need never ask to enter my bed, Morgause.”

“I always will,” Morgause vowed, her words distorted by her movement and Morgana’s shifting to make room for her.

With an almost catlike grace, Morgause slipped into the bed, took Morgana into her arms and sighed as if all her worries had disappeared, as a drop of wine vanishes into a bowl of milk.

As she took a breath to praise Morgana’s devastating ability to make all her thoughts turn to her, there was a flicker of movement between their still bodies, where Morgana’s swollen belly pressed up against Morgause.

For a moment she was dumbstruck. Her mouth was dry and a pleasant shiver ran through her body. “Was that…”

Morgana’s breathing had turned ragged with excitement. She had felt it before but never so strong, never more than a flutter that could be put down to nerves or excitement. “Yes… I… You felt that?”

“I felt it,” Morgause breathed, curving her palm onto Morgana’s stomach.

“He knows his brave knight is nigh and that I was meant to be in her arms,” Morgana whispered adoringly, looking into Morgause’s eyes, “And him too.  That he chose this moment, does that not tell you something – no, everything? He is as much yours as it is possible to be. He _loves you_.”

As if in agreement, the babe kicked again, perfectly into Morgause’s palm. And she knew then that she would love him for certain, for more love for him than she could endure filled her at that moment. So much love, that she could not breathe. So much love, that she felt her magic swell within her until she could not suppress it any longer. It was being pulled from her, leaving her absurdly fuller, soaking into Morgana and forming two unbreakable links running to the life inside her.

“Can you feel that?” she choked, able only to speak when the feeling became a little more tolerable. Her mind was filled with an utter awareness of the growing life and she knew undoubtedly that there were two babes, not just one. Morgana was carrying twins.

“The babe?” Morgana asked, confusion colouring her smile.

“No,” Morgause shook her head. The moon had come out and Morgause could see her Queen’s eyes shining with joy.  “I mean, yes, but no. I mean…”

“The magic? You can finally feel it?” Morgana asked, her smile turning almost teasing. “I have felt it running from you to him since the island. Even before I knew that he existed.”

“But…”

“I told you.  He may be of Uther’s blood, but he is yours too. They say that the island is where those with impossible dreams go to have them fulfilled. I think that the Gods smiled on us that day and gave me my wish that we would never be parted. And we cannot be, I know it, with your magic in my child. Who, if not you, could teach him how to control it and how to use it? The Gods cannot part us now.”

“Use magic?”

“Uther will not always be King,” Morgana promised, covering Morgause’s hand above her son with hers. “When that day comes, this boy with my blood and your magic – your love – will bring –”

“Not one, my love. Twins. A boy, just like you said, but another, a girl,” Morgause interrupted, unable to contain having this knowledge to herself for another second.

“I had wondered,” Morgana said, smiling softly. “I think I may have seen her once in a dream, but I cannot quite remember it and it could have been a future daughter not yet conceived. With your word, though, I can believe it. I can believe that my son will rule this kingdom and, with his sister, bring back our Gods.”

“ _’Our Gods’_?” It was straying from what Morgause believed to be the important topic at hand – the revelation that there would soon be two cradles in Morgana’s chambers, not one – but had to ask.

“I tell you so many things and yet you do not seem to listen. They are my Gods too. They have been from the moment you woke me up from my nightmare of a life with that kiss. They are your Gods, my love. If they deign to find me fit for you, then how could I do anything but honour them as I worship you,” Morgana whispered fervently, barely able to take a breath when she was done before Morgause was kissing her, overtaking her senses until she was set alight.

“I cannot use my magic, not truly,” came Morgause’s whispered confession against her lips. “I cannot be the teacher you want me to be.”

“If the power I feel coursing off you is not you _using_ your magic, then I do not know what is,” Morgana countered, letting Morgause push her onto her back. A near sly smile curling her lips when Morgause found her way atop her thighs. It always amazed Morgana how light Morgause was, and how strong with it.

“ _Such faith in me_ ,” Morgause breathed, her eyes as dark as the night as she trailed the tips of her fingers up Morgana’s sides, lifting up her nightshift.

“Faith that you have earned,” Morgana said certainly. “And faith is the least I can give you. We must make tonight unforgettable. I need you to give me a night that I can close my eyes and dream of.”

“Do I not always?” Morgause countered, her smile turning slyer than Morgana’s ever could. “Am I not constantly unforgettable?”

 “For tomorrow, my love, word of the marching army will finally reach the city walls,” Morgana continued as if she had not heard Morgause’s teasing at all. “In their wake, you will ride off to war.”

Morgause’s heartbeat faltered. She did not ask how she knew it, for there had been enough talk of magic for one night.

Morgana knew she was right. She knew it as certainly as she knew that Morgause would come home to her.

The Gods favoured them and, as such, no earthly power could put a stop to their divine plans; certainly nothing as weak as an army or intangible as distance.

 

 

~*~

 

 

The knock – sharp and stout – came during breakfast.

“Gwen, would you?” Morgana requested, wiping her mouth with the corner of her linen handkerchief.

Gwen nodded a bow and went to the door, giving Morgana and Morgause a moment to move farther apart before reaching for the doorknob and twisting.

 “Sir,” she greeted the calling Knight, curtseying.

“M’lady,” Gwaine bowed, ever the charmer. “May I come in?”

Giving him a look which firmly said, “Its ‘miss’ and you know it”, Gwen nodded and stepped aside to let him enter. Unlike most of the women in Camelot, she was decidedly immune to Sir Gwaine’s charms.

“Her Royal Highness is taking breakfast,” Gwen informed him.

“I do not wish to disturb Her Highness but my business here is urgent,” Gwaine promised.

He had a reputation for being the Knight with the greatest penchant for enjoying life, but he was a Knight. The title Knight as opposed to knight was reserved for the full time knights of the first ten Companies alone. These were knights who had been singled out not only because they were of good birth but of good character and skill too. They were picked by the Commander himself and were, without exception, good men. Not least amongst these men was Sir Gwaine, who had the well-earned honour of being part of Morgause’s Company – The First Company, along with his brothers Sir Percival, Sir Owain, Sir Galahad, Sir Kay, Sir Bors, Sir Gareth, Sir Erec, Sir Bedivere, Sir Cormick and, of course, Sir Leon. All of that meant that he was an honourable man and not without good manners.

“Sir Gwaine,” Morgana called from the adjoining chamber in which she was taking her breakfast. She could not mistake the Knight’s familiar lilting tones.

Sweeping forward on his Queen’s orders, Gwaine entered the dining chamber and bowed low to Morgana before tipping his head in a bow to Morgause. When his fellow Knight made to stand, he shook his head, telling her that there was no need. He had always shared Leon’s fondness for her, a sentiment which had only increased on her assignment to protect the Queen he so loved.

“I apologise for the early hour of my call, Your Highness,” he said, inclining his head in another bow to Morgana.

“No need, Sir. I know well that you would not come were your words not as dire as I know them will be.” Morgana kept her eyes fixed on his, giving him all the respect that his station demanded, even if it was beneath her own. “I assume it is not me you have called for, but your…” She trailed off and looked to Morgause who sat nearby. She had been about to say ‘brother in arms’ as she had often heard Morgause refer to her fellow Knights.

“We tend to just call her Morgause, it is simpler that way,” Gwaine put in, his signature smile shining though. Sir Leon would be furious with him taking such a liberty, but his time on the road with Morgana had taught him that she would take no offense.

“Quite,” Morgana agreed, sharing his smile. “Though, she has agreed to be addressed as ‘my lady’. Still, that seems unfit for her brother to use.”

“Morgause is fine,” Morgause said, contributing for the first time to the conversation.

“Very well,” Morgana agreed, moving on. “I assume you are here to see Morgause.”

“You are right, Your Highness. The Commander requests her presence and offers an invitation to Your Highness to join The First Company in our meeting.  The Commander values your opinion and knows that there are issues to discuss pertaining directly to your security,” Gwaine said, delivering his message. He very much approved of Sir Leon’s request that Morgana be invited to join them. Morgause was her guard and so the morning’s news would affect her more than most in the castle.

Surprised, Morgana answered, “Of course we will both attend, Sir, once our breakfasting is done with.”

Morgause caught Gwaine’s eye and smiled. Her fellow Knights had taken a shine to Morgana that went above and beyond the norm since their short time travelling together. It made her heart glad that Sir Leon was making the effort to keep the Queen informed where the King would not – albeit under the pretence of personal security arrangements.

 

 

~*~

 

“Brothers, I have called you here this morning in the Company of our great Queen to deliver some ill news. At first light, the first of our scouting parties came back from the surrounding lands, bringing with them tales of Worcester’s army,” Sir Leon began from his seat at the round table, at which everyone was equal. “There is some good news to be had that the army is not as large as first thought. By the independent count of four men, there are near eight hundred men in King Edwin’s army but no more. That does not mean that we do not have a challenge our hands, but it does lighten our load.”

“How big of a force are we launching?” Gwaine asked.

“I propose sending three quarters of our strength, leaving the rest behind to defend Camelot, lest she face another threat.”

“Which Companies will we leave behind?” Morgause asked.

As Sir Leon answered, suggesting the Third and Sixth Companies and a number of others under their command, Morgana marvelled from the side of the room at how the whole affair was being conducted. It was so unlike her husband holding court that she could hardly believe it. The Commander stood truly as an equal to the men of the First Company, taking their questions and heading their suggestions.

“And what of us?” Sir Galahad enquired.

“You do not mind, I hope, Your Highness, listening to our talk of strategy,” Leon queried before continuing the discussion.

“Not at all, Sir. I take interest in it,” Morgana answered honestly. “You must, for the moment, forget my presence and carry on with your business.”

Nodding to her, Leon turned back to the table. “For the moment we shall ride as a Company, with each Knight of us having a handful of Companies reporting to him or her. Beyond that, all will depend on the field we meet our enemy in and their formations. If what I have been told about their path through the land is correct, I suggest we execute the Weatherby attack. We will ride out to Ignis Valle and make our camps in the high forests either side of the valley. Splitting our force in three will allow for two high camps and one force to herd the army into the valley proper, at which point the other two forces will descend upon them, giving us the advantage of height and familiar territory.”

A chorus of muttered agreement went around the table. Sir Thomas Weatherby had been Uther’s maternal grandfather. He was a renowned military strategist and had led the Pendragon armies to four successful victories in four successive wars, retaining for them the throne.

“What of the command of the three forces?” Morgause asked. She had never ridden out to war before. None of them bar Sir Leon had. Peace had long prospered in the land and the only battle any of the Knights had seen was the storming of Camelot two years before. And that had been by soft Southern raiders who smashed upon Camelot’s stone walls.

“If you will come, Morgause, I would put you and Sir Gwaine in charge of the party on the western side of the valley with Sir Erec and Sir Kay serving under you. On the east I would have Sir Galahad and Sir Percival leading a force with Sir Cormick and Sir Bedivere serving them. And with me, charging the army from behind, will be Sir Owain, Sir Bors and Sir Gareth.”

“I will come,” Morgause said quickly, “on my Queen’s orders.”

The whole table turned to Morgana.

“She will go,” the Queen nodded. “Which is where I come in, making difficult your plans. My husband will not agree to a castle guard taking over my protection now that it is his heir who needs protecting too.”

“It is no trouble, Your Highness. It is our duty and honour to serve you. Had you commanded that Morgause stay, we would all of us here understand your decision and change our plans to suit it. You have a fine Knight in your service and should not be expected to give her up. Still, you have shown yourself to be a most noble Queen and we will, of course make alternate arrangements. I will send to you this afternoon the Third Company, from whom Morgause – with your permission – will choose three guards to take her place. One for each possible entrance to your chambers,” Sir Leon advised.

“I do not wish to weaken the city’s defences,” Morgana said quietly, her eyes downturned. “The need of my people outstrips my own.”

“Respectfully, Your Highness, it does not,” Leon said firmly. “The first duty of the Knights of Camelot is to protect the line of succession. That means you, the King and his heirs. We serve the Kingdom, and it is in her interests that the line remains intact. War over grievances may be brutal but it has nothing on the fight for a throne.”

Paling, Morgana nodded. “When will you ride out?”

“At dusk.”

 

 

~*~

 

With Uther standing tall beside her, Morgana watched from the city walls as Camelot’s brave army rode forth into the gathering gloom of the autumn eve. At both of her sides stood the wives, mothers and children of the Knights, their number stretching the northern length of the wall. All ten Companies of Knights were now gone bar the Third and Sixth Companies. That made for a lot of forlorn women.  The streets below them were full of such women too. Their husbands and sons had been called up from the other Companies to serve as the knights who would make up the bulk of Camelot’s force. All had been trained in warfare but not so vigorously as the full time Knights who had given up their lives to serve the kingdom. Still, that Camelot had a full time army at all gave her an advantage, no matter how small.

“I stayed in Worcester once,” Morgana murmured quietly under her breath so that only the King would hear her. “I remember how kind King Edwin’s wife was and how sweet his little daughter had been. She was only five and at first I thought myself much too old to play with her at the grand age of eight. She was as sweet and gentle as her mother, though, and soon I was reading her stories of brave knights and awful dragons, mothering her almost.”

“Is there a point to this, Morgana?” Uther said a little harshly. He was worried she could see it in the deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. War took its toll on everyone.

“It seems strange to me that our army riding out to do battle with them.” She caught sight of Morgause’s golden hair tumbling down over her polished plate. Sir Gwaine was riding close beside her and their heads were inclined together in conversation. “Though much has changed, I suppose, since that visit. For them as much as for us.”

Metal chinked together as Uther shifted his weight onto his other foot, making his scabbard clash against his mail. “Indeed. The Queen is dead and the Princess is far from a child.”

Morgana shot him a cold look, biting her tongue before she could say, ‘Thanks to you.’

Instead she said, “May God grant mercy on them and us both. After all, it is sin at the heart of a kingdom that brings down war upon its head. So says our bishop, does he not, my King?”

Uther stayed silent.

“And we can only imagine it is Worcester that is the sinner,” she said mildly, watching him to see the tension melt from his shoulders.

He smiled at her kindly then, clearly pleased with her assessment and ignorant to her true thoughts. “You must be very afraid. Do not worry. I will be there tonight to comfort you.”

Suppressing a shiver, Morgana smiled sweetly and bowed her head to him. “You are most thoughtful, my King.”

She thought back to Morgause’s words late that afternoon and hoped that she was right.  

_“They are good men,” Morgause assured her Queen, holding her close upon the battlements. “Sir Donal, Sir Darris and Sir Harrow are the best in the Third Company. All have fought bravely in tournaments and are veterans of the storming of Camelot. More than that, they are gallant and honourable, and will serve you well.”_

_Morgana sighed, breathing in the strong scent of the dye from Morgause’s red shirt. “Only you can serve me well.”_

_Her heart aching, Morgause lifted up Morgana’s chin and kissed her. “I will be with you deep inside, where our love dwells,” she promised, her hand over Morgana’s heart. “And here too,” she said, touching her fingers to Morgana’s temple._

_“I know,” Morgana promised. “I just…” She took a deep breath. “There are things that I dread. Things that I fear may come to pass without you here.”_

_Morgause felt a prickle of ice on her skin. “What things?”_

_“That I will, once more, become a meek little girl without you to give me strength. And Uther too. I fear him.”_

_“There is nothing little or frail about you. You may have once believed that, but it was a lie told you to you to keep you silent and obeying. Your strength comes from the fire in your heart. It does not come from me. It comes from your father and mother, from your bloodline. It comes from your people and our Gods. It comes from a place inside you that is wholly and only you, and it cannot be extinguished now that you have found it,” Morgause promised. “And I will be home before you know it. Back by your side to serve you and protect,” she kissed her again, “and love you.”_

_A howl of wind encircled them and Morgana shivered. Winter was on its way and soon the days would be short and cold and bleak. She did not care to think of Morgause at battle somewhere out in the Valley of Fire. Despite its name, once the rain came the valley would be wet and icy and slick with thick black mud that stank of the sulphurous fires that had rained down upon it in legend. Wars had a habit of becoming protracted; battle upon battle complicating matters beyond easy resolve._

_“_ My _Queen,” Morgause murmured below the wind, trailing her fingers over the latticed gold that showed at the V of Morgana’s neckline. “I love you.”_

_“And I you,” Morgana replied almost without thinking. Her voice was shaky and she felt one of the babes inside her shift restlessly or perhaps, she fancied, with the same sorrowful listlessness that she felt overcoming her own body._

_“Think of me when the sun sets,” Morgause bade her. The sun was dipping in the sky and their time together was over. “And I will think of you.”_

The sun was setting then and Morgana thought of her love. She thought of Morgause’s deep, dark eyes and the way she felt when they lingered on her. She thought of her two babes, full of Morgause’s magic, moving joyfully inside her at Morgause’s embrace. A wicked thought popped into her mind and she could not help but voice it.

“I thought I felt the babe move today,” she said, her eyes twinkling as she watched Morgause crest a hill and disappear from view. “So I had Morgause put her hand to me and feel it too to make sure I was not imagining things.”

Uther, oblivious to the poison sting hidden in her words, smiled brightly and forgot the war for a moment. He pulled off his glove and put his hand to Morgana’s still belly. “My son,” he said proudly, though he could not feel a thing. His eyes showed his disappointment plainly, but he kept his smile in place.

The proud swell of a small victory burgeoned in Morgana’s chest. It seemed magic really was stronger than blood.

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Knights of Camelot go into battle and Morgana holds court with an unexpected visitor.

Morgana woke to the warmth of sunlight striking her face and an icy cold feeling deep in gut. Something wasn’t right. Her eyes fluttered open and narrowed against the harsh morning light.

Gwen had not dropped the thin blue drapes over the windows as she did early each morning, so that Morgana could drift off to sleep with the light of the moon but not be woken by the light of the early-rising sun. It was strange that Gwen had not been to do it. That alone was not enough to be the cause of such an unsettling feeling, yet it seemed that it might be part of it. Or that it might at least share its cause with the feeling.

Then the memory – crisp as if she was living it again – of Morgause leaving seeped back into Morgana’s sleepy mind and, with it, the realisation that Uther had followed through on his threat and come to her after darkness had fallen. He had entered her chambers without knocking. Gwen had been brushing out Morgana’s hair but had quickly been dismissed by the King. After that, Morgana remembered little aside from his cloying attempts at reassurance as his rough hands rid her of her nightshift and pushed her to the bed. Her mind was shielding her from the rest. She didn’t think she could ever look Morgause in the eye again if she remembered it. Not that she could see Morgause ever wanting her now that Uther had reclaimed what was his – not now that he had taken her and slept in the bed she had shared with Morgause just the night before.

As quietly and carefully as she could, she slipped out of bed. She ached less than she was used to aching after Uther had claimed his rights and she supposed she should be thankful to him at least for that. Finding her nightshift, she shakily pulled it on to cover herself and found that the lace holding it together at the front has been cut by some blade, letting it fall open almost enough to bare her breasts. That was how Emilie found her as she returned from morning market with no inkling that that morning was different than any other since she had become Morgana’s maid.  She did not speak to Morgana, just wrapped her shawl around her and helped her down the corridor to the small room where Gwen was waiting anxiously for the King to leave so that she might see her to Queen.

Gwen’s eyes widened at the pitiful sight and she shooed Emilie off to fetch a tin bath and couple of kitchen girls to swiftly fill it.

She didn’t speak to Morgana until her mistress was submerged to her chin in the warm honeyed water.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered when they were alone. She had never been sorrier in her life. For the past few weeks, Morgana had been happy. Now she was lower than the worst of times before, and there was nothing Gwen could do to stop it happening again.

Tears ran down Morgana’s cheeks. Her eyes did not waver from their fearful stare towards the door. She was shivering, though the water was quite warm. For no reason at all, she lifted her feet from the bottom of the bath and let her head slip beneath the water. Down there, below the surface, everything echoed and ebbed. Every worry was quietened. Nothing could touch her. Nothing could mar her. She never wanted to be anywhere else.

But as her chest began to tighten with need for air, she felt a powerful tug, pulling her up out of the water until her mouth greeted cold air and she could gasp a breath.

 

Warm shivers of magic flowed over her body and her babes fluttered inside her. When the shivering subsided, her whole body felt new and clean. She closed her eyes and saw Morgause pushing open a tent flap and filling her lungs with the cold morning air, smiling despite the rain. Briefly, she wondered whether it was real, then thought better of it. It was her babes that were full of Morgause’s magic, not her.

“You’re smiling,” Gwen gasped, confused but so very relieved.

 

***

 

Morning was cold on the heather-covered hills north of Camelot City. A frosty wind howled through the tents and made their inhabitants shiver as much as the men who had slept under the stars.

Morgause prodded the ineffectual fire and watched the smoke drift up and out of the hole at the tent’s peak. The heather they were burning gave off a pure white smoke and a heady smell that reminded Morgause of the days before the purge.

“Cold?” Gwaine enquired with a yawn.

“Damned freezing,” Morgause bit, snuggling further into her own embrace. “The road to Mermering and back was balmy compared to this.”

Gwaine sat down beside her and filled a bowl of steaming porridge. “If you think this is cold, you should see the winters where I am from. In my fifth year even the sea froze.”

Morgause chuckled. “Liar.”

He grinned. “Got me there. It was freezing though.”

“The Queen thinks that autumn is taking the year off,” Morgause put in, frowning at Gwaine’s ability to finish his porridge in several quick gulps. She had no appetite with war on the horizon.

“Ah well, the quicker winter comes, the quicker you’ll have a tiny Pendragon to protect. You can’t say that you aren’t looking forward to that.”

An irrepressible smile brightened Morgause’s face. She gave the twisted twin cords of magic a tug to make sure they were still there, letting a new awareness of the babes fill her up and warm her cold bones. “All of Camelot eagerly awaits that day.”

 

“That she does,” Gwaine agreed. “The war does not seem half as bad with something like that to look forward too.”

Morgause could not disagree with that either.

“Everyone knows that any child of our Queen will be a great ruler. It gives us a reason to win this war – to see him rule. That is what Leon said after the feast and every one of us agrees with him.” Gwaine rose and patted Morgause on the shoulder. “So no pressure there then.” He grinned.

Morgause laughed, swatting his hand away. “I thought it odd there for a moment, you being so serious.”

“Nah. What would you all do without me lightening up your lives?” And with that Gwaine disappeared into the morning mist.

“He meant it, though. We all do,” Percival said from his dark corner of the tent. He had always been the most thoughtful of the First Company, even more so that Leon or Morgause. There was a book in his lap and a pile more beside him. All on military strategy. The names ‘Le Fay’ and ‘Wilde’ were picked out in scrolling gold lettering on two of the books, their broad covers pressed close in a kiss. Percival caught Morgause’s gaze on the books and smiled. “She has given us something wonderful to fight for, just when we needed in the most. If Camelot is victorious in this war, it is her Queen we must thank for it.”

“I will be sure to tell her that,” Morgause smiled, feeling a little surreal. She wished Morgana could hear the men talk of her like that. Then she would have no doubt as to how highly the Knights thought of her.

Pushing up from the floor, Morgause poured her uneaten porridge into the fire and grabbed her cloak. It was a fine morning that she walked out into, despite the cold and mist.

 

 

***

 

Three more days passed and Uther visited Morgana’s chambers every night. He seemed to be almost as insatiable for her as he had been in the months after their wedding, and Morgana had resigned to use it to her advantage. Uther was at his most suggestible when he was newly sated and Morgana found that when he was in this state, she could win some small victories. The second night he came to her, she turned her back to him when he was done, hoping that he would not want to take her again that night. When he did, she let her thoughts travel to Morgause and imagined that it was her knight taking her, lusty from her victory on the battlefield. It did not make her enjoy it but it did make it more sufferable. On that night, she got him to agree to let her sit beside him at meetings with his advisors. For their morale, she persuades him. On the third night, she casually mentioned Elyan and what he had done for the kingdom. Uther agreed to name him royal blacksmith and pay him handsomely for it. It is only what he deserves, she persuades him. On the fourth night, she told him it is twins she is carrying and he agreed that Gaius must take on apprentices who must treat the people of the city free of charge as part of their training. That night, he is more satisfied than any of the previous nights, and she also manages to persuade him to make Gwen her lady in waiting. After all, a simple maid cannot look after her heirs, she persuades him.

By the morning of the fifth day since the knights left, Morgana felt as confident and powerful as she did with Morgause at her side. It was on that morning that news came of a mysterious woman requesting an audience with her alone. Not being the sort of woman to obey strangers, Morgana brought her new lady in waiting with her. And though it was only a title – Uther would not consent to Gwen ever being able to marry into the middle or upper class – Gwen was dressed in the finest Le Fay green. And if others saw the colour was a symbol of ownership, Gwen did not mind in the slightest. Morgana would never mean it that way, of that Gwen was sure. Not the Morgana who taught her to read and write, allowing Gwen to go home and teach her father and brother. No, Morgana could never even fathom the idea of ‘ownership’ over a person, despite knowing that the King owned her completely and utterly. That was why Gwen was honoured to be wearing green in a sea of red, wearing plainly on her body with whom her loyalty lay.

“May I present,” the herald announced, “the Lady Amina Dorren.”

The woman who entered the hall on those words was of a beauty that took Morgana’s breath away. It was her eyes that immediately drew one’s attention – a rich, earthy brown that shone like sunlight off bronze. Like Morgana’s, her hair was black as night but was straight and silken down to her lower back, a slim braid running from each temple like a crown. Her skin, far from being pale as Morgana’s was, was almost as dark as Gwen’s and was made to glow by the saffron and crimson gown she wore with a slit at her waist, showing off more smooth, flawless skin. Her features were unlike those of anyone Morgana had seen in Camelot. She was of the same origins, Morgana guessed, as some of the traders that her father had worked with, but they had all been men and nowhere near as enchanting.

Amina walked in silence towards the throne, stopping at the steps to the dais and falling onto her knees, her head bowed in supplication. “My Queen.”

“Rise,” Morgana commanded, heat prickling at the back of her neck. She held out her hand for the stranger to take and kiss, as custom demanded, and tried not to shiver when soft, warm lips graced the back of her hand.

“It is the greatest of honours,” Amina swore, her accent being of someone who was raised in the far north, “to stand before such a great and beloved Queen. I am not worthy.”

“You are Dorren’s daughter.” It was not a question, but Amina nodded anyway. “That makes you worth a great deal, so long as you have your father’s gifts.”

“Yes, my Queen. Since his death a year past I have taken over his practice. I hope that I shall not be a disappointment to you.”

“I hope not,” Morgana agreed. “There is a child that I wish for you to see. She has a sleeping sickness and has been in a deep sleep from which it has been impossible to wake her. If you would, I would have you go to her immediately. She is important to me and you will be justly rewarded should your work revive her.”

Amina smiled. “I have always admired women who cut straight to what they want out of a relationship. I will, of course, do as you command. On one condition.”

Morgana frowned at her audacity. “Name it and I shall see.”

“That you let me examine you when I return. I have many years of experience caring for women with child.”

Morgana considered, looking to Gwen for guidance. What she would give to have Morgause by her side instead. It was her magic that she feared Amina discovering during an examination and so it should be her choice. Sometimes Morgana wished that she could defer to her in all things. Then she remembered that she was a Queen and that it was her right to reign over her kingdom and everyone in it, even if she wished for Morgause to reign over her.

“Agreed,” Morgana assented finally, holding out her hand for Amina’s to seal the promise. “If you promise to stay until my confinement is done.”

Amina bowed. “As you command, My Queen.”

 

 

***

Marcus Holwynn was, everyone agreed, the best baker in Worcester. He had been offered the job as royal baker less than six months before his kingdom went to war. He refused point blank. There was no job so prestigious that he would entice him to leave his home with his wife for a single bed in servant’s accommodation.

That had, on reflection, been a mistake.

Whilst Marcus had recently become a faceless soldier in a makeshift army, the man who had taken his job was safe in the Grey castle kitchens. Fate was funny that way - always having a laugh at Marcus’ expense.

Still, it was not all bad. Ignis Valle had promised some small reprieve from their endless marching. Marcus was not the fittest of men and the relentless pace had taken its toll. Bakers generally did not require the service of a horse in their everyday profession. As such, Marcus was making the march on foot, grumbling at those lucky enough to be on horseback. That being said, he was not completely without affection for them.

Worcester horses were stocky things with thick coats and strong muscles, the best horses in the north. They were the reason they were to stop in the valley. Horses needed watering and the Ghilli river broke from the cover of trees just inside the valley and it was the first time it was out in the open for two days ride either behind and ahead. Marcus was planning to feel the water between his toes, or at least the rain. The downpour was coming down harder every minute, falling from the darkening sky like arrowheads determined to ruin his brightening mood.

“How long before we stop?” a boy beside him asked. He looked about twelve. The overly large helmet was taking years off him.

“See that oak tree way over there, that’s the point the officers at the head of the column are ordered to stop at.” He had to shout to answer.

The boy squinted in the completely wrong direction. “What’s that?”

Marcus tried to keep hold of his patience. Did the boy not know the head of the column from its tail? It was too cold for all this shrieking. “What’s what?”

Then he saw it. There was something moving in the trees on the east side of the valley mouth. It could just have been the wind, but something told Marcus that was not the case. Trees, generally, did not move quite so much. Nor were they white. Nor…

“Over there!” he shouted. “Riders from the east!”

But it was too late. Percival and his men had already broken through the trees and Galahad was not far behind him. Within seconds, the first soldiers on the outer edge of the column were down, with the raging rain keeping the officers oblivious. The men watering their horses on the western side of the column too remained ignorant. No matter how much noise the attackers made, the rain silenced it.

As Marcus pulled his sword, the first of the horses yet to make their way to the river bolted. In a flash, the mounted soldiers were at the point of stampede. Their work and leisure horses had not been bred for war. They had been bred to run. And run they did, trampling those unlucky enough to get in their way to the ground.

“Turn and fight!” Marcus cried hopelessly. It was no use. He knew that the riders had no more control over their horses than they did the rain. That was the last thought of Marcus Holwynn, best baker in Worcester. Sir Galahad removed his head with a single clean blow, ever gallant.

 

 

***

 

 

Night was dawning fast, the sunless sky thundering and weeping. Morgause thanked the gods for the rain.

A calming hand to Dream’s neck quietened her from her nervous whickering. She needn’t have bothered, for the noise of the rain and the clamour of an infant battle finding its feet below them, their enemy would not have heard even the loudest of her horse’s screams. But it was not for the sake of staying hidden that she did it. A nervous horse made for a nervous rider. That was something she could not afford to be.

The call was hers to take, thanks to the toss of a coin. She had to time it perfectly. If nothing else, Gwaine would never let her live it down should they reach the valley floor too soon. Worse, they did not know if their enemies were armed with bows. Too soon could be very costly if they did.

The jostling of the Worcester column was quickly making its way up the valley to where they planned to cross the northbound bridge. If all went to plan – and it was a good plan – none of them would make it that far. Even if they did, they would find the bridge a blackened, broken mess. A torch to it two days past had seen to that.

“Just a little further,” she whispered, imploring the gods to grant her one more blessing. “That’s it…”

At her whistle, Dream took flight, Gwaine speeding after her. They hurtled down the steeper of the two valley sides at a speed that would have awed any tournament crowd. They were strapped to their saddles and had no chance of survival should their mounts slip on the muddy ground. Out of sheer luck and the gods’ favour, none fell.

With a sound like thunder, they broke free of the trees and clattered across the bridge and onto the battlefield, wheeling southwards to meet their enemy head-to-head.

It was a fearsome charge that took out two thirds of the Worcester officers in minutes, seven of them meeting their end at the sharp edge of Morgause’s engraved sword. For years after, the knights would talk of that moment with an awed hush in their voices; whispering the names of Camelot’s brave fallen few and canonising its heroes.

But the battle was far from over. Eight hundred men fighting for their lives was a mighty force to overcome and with not all their army yet in the fray, the knights of Camelot had to fight their very best not just to keep the upper hand but to survive.

For five hours, the battle raged. Four score of Camelot’s knights fell to Worcester swords and five times the favour was paid back to the northerners.

Amongst the battle, Morgause lost her horse to a rapier in the neck and, after cutting herself free, was forced to continue on foot. It was then she did her best work, cutting through her opponents with the grace she was renowned for and the courage so few had been willing to credit her with. Her progress through the army brought her to Percival, holding off three men in the thick of the fighting. They spent the rest of the battle back to back – Camelot’s largest and slightest Knights forming the eye of the storm upon which all who approached were felled.

 

 

***

 

 

 

The boy with the oversized helmet had been nicknamed ‘Tiny’ when he was a child. It had been an unoriginal attempt at irony on the part of his dwarfed peers, that had ultimately proved fitting. By thirteen he had enjoyed his last growth spurt and, at the height of 5ft 4, had slowly learnt to look up. It had been this unwitting training that had saved his life – at least for a while.

Before the rotund man marching beside him had the sense to call out, Tiny was at the river and heading northwards along it. By the time the second of Camelot’s attacks fell on his brethren, he was almost at the ford and within minutes of disappearing into the forest. In his last thirty seconds of life, he splashed into the knee-high water and began to feel the thrills of escape. That was when Sir Bors’ arrow hit him square in the heart and he fell, momentarily turning the water red, before being swept northwards – towards home. No one found him a week later when he drifted past Worcester’s capital, bloated and battered. It was better that way. His mother never knew he ran.

 

 

***

 

 

As planned, Sir Leon led the final of Camelot’s three attacks, crossing the river ford from the west and coming upon the battle from behind. His force’s role in the fight was a bloody one. With no chance of escape, the trapped Worcester soldiers fought ferociously. Someone amongst them had organised a band of archers who fired flaming arrows at the wave of knights. Sir Bors – in a turn of divine irony – was hit and fell burning from his charger.

Undeterred, Leon ploughed through the line of archers, cutting the flaming rag from the top of their torch and quelling any further rains of fire. The arrow that hit Bors had been a lucky one, all others had been put out by the true rain, but it was better not to chance a further stroke of luck.

Despite their tactical advantage, the battle was hard fought. By the time the battle was done, the highest remaining officer, Lord Dollen Trent, had been captured along with twenty of his nobleborn men and two score foot soldiers. Word was that some of the mounted men had gotten away through the forest to the east so, chances were, King Edwin Grey would soon hear of his loss. Leon did not believe that the force they had faced was all that the Worcester army had to offer. The capital was almost twice the size of Camelot and its countryside was more intensely farmed. Its conscripts would amount to at least the initial estimate from the blacksmith’s reports. Ignis Valle would not be the last battle of the war.

 

 

***

 

“How is the child?” Morgana asked nervously, shifting on her bed. Amina’s hands were cool on her stomach and Morgana did not know her well enough to be entirely comfortable with being touched by her so intimately. Then there was the worry over Morgause’s cousin. Yet it was from the unsettling feeling creeping beneath her skin that had her so on edge. It had begun just after the sun had set. Pulsing like a quickened heart and burning like a flame. It was magic, she was sure of it.

“I have a remedy in mind. It will take some time to prepare,” Amina murmured, her concentration elsewhere. She was pressing alternately on Morgana’s abdomen with one hand then the other, her eyes narrowed. “I am hopeful.”

“How long?” Morgana inquired. She was impatient, she knew, but Eleanor had been ill for so long, it seemed. Surely there should be haste.

“I am inclined to agree with the physician who conducted your initial examination. You’ve about five months to go,” Amina answered thoughtfully, not yet ceasing with her prodding.

“No,” Morgana shook her head then corrected herself. “Sorry. I meant for the cure for Eleanor. My words were vague, forgive me. I seem to be a little nervous, what with everything that has been happening of late.”

Amina considered her response for a moment, deciding to gloss over Morgana’s apology. It had been a little too sincere, like she had apologised too many times before. “It should take less than a week to prepare. The exact time will depend on how long it takes me to gather what I need and what equipment I can lay my hands on here. It was swifter to travel light and answering the summons of a Queen demands swiftness.”

“You may, of course, have full use of our physician’s stores and equipment. He has amassed a strong collection, I hear. I am sure he will have what you need,” Morgana said, hope creeping into her voice. There was a dove caged cooing softly nearby in her rooms, waiting to carry a letter to Morgause, who had its mate. Gwen had offered to sign any letter that Morgana wrote and address it to some fictitious knight, but Morgana did not think even Uther would object to her writing to her guard to inform her of her cousin’s health. He had, after all, expected Morgause to keep her company as well as keep her safe.

“The ingredients are not the problem on the whole. I assume yeast, trout and crayfish are not hard to come by in Camelot?” Amina asked, making sure. On Morgana’s shake of the head telling her that no, it would not be hard to find such thing, she continued. “It is the extraction process which will require some more exotic substances and specialised equipment. Is there a glass blower in the castle?”

Morgana nodded, closing her eyes to picture the older woman, in order to recall her name. “Mrs Wicks. She took over as glassblower after her husband died. Even Uther had to admit that her work was as good as Mr Wicks’.”

“Good.” Amina smiled and leant back, gesturing that Morgana could cover herself again. “Just a few questions.”

Gratefully pulling the blanket over herself, Morgana nodded. “Of course.”

To Morgana’s surprise, Amina pulled out a small leather-bound book, a feather pen and a sealed ink pot from the folds of her gown. She set the ink pot down and a removed wide stopper, before opening the book on her lap and dipping the pen into the ink. On the first page of the book, she wrote Morgana’s name and titles in a large cursive script, blew on it to dry it and turned the page. At the top of the next page, she wrote the date, Morgana’s age and ‘4 months approximately’. Morgana felt as though she was about to sit some sort of trial.

“Have you felt movement?” Amine enquired, not looking up from where her pen was poised to write Morgana’s answer.

“Yes, for the past week,” Morgana responded, her nerves rising. “Maybe before that.”  She stuttered. “I did not want to get anyone’s hopes up before that, not until I was sure.”

Amina smiled, her dark eyes catching the light and glinting, “That’s good.” Morgana relaxed a little. “Now, how about pain or bleeding? Have you had either in the past four months?”

Morgana shook her head. “I have sickness but Gaius, our physician, says that it is relatively mild.”

“Is Gaius used to dealing with women with child?” Amina asked, not sounding convinced as to Gaius’ expertise in the field. She had generally found that even the most skilled physician was flawed when it came to the intimate ways of women.

Again, Morgana shook her head. She was reluctant to admit it, for Gaius had always been kind to her, despite his strong ties to Uther. Though she had never trusted he would keep her confidences, she had never doubted that he would do his best for her and everyone else he treated. “There are women for that in the town and there have been no noble births at court for many years.”

Amina’s smile turned wry. “Then I will be the judge of your sickness. Men cannot have informed opinions on something they have not experienced. Women neither.”

“You have a child?” Morgana queried incredulously. She would never have imagined it, not of a woman like Amina who had such a profession. All the women in the town who helped with births were young women who gave it up upon their marriage or old women whose children had all grown up. Then there was the question of marriage. Surely if Amina had a husband, he would not let her work? “But you’re name, its-”

“The same as my fathers? Yes.” Amina let her pause linger. “I have never married, yet I have a daughter Alleyah. Does that shock you?”

“Yes,” Morgana answered honestly, remembering for the first time that since the exam was over, she could sit up. She needed to feel as much in control as she could to have such a conversation. “Such a thing would be frowned upon in Camelot. It is unthinkable.”

“Where I am from too,” Amina countered with a teasing edge to her voice, as if she did not think Morgana aware of anything outside the borders of Camelot.  “My father was a wise man. He was not like most people. He did not care what people said about us and neither do I.”

Morgana’s mind was spinning. “Where is she, you daughter? Is she in Camelot?”

“She is with her grandmother in the inn just outside the castle walls. We all travelled south together.” On that note, Amina raised her book pointedly. “Now please, Your Highness, back to my questions.” The pen once more hovered above the golden paper. “Is your husband favouring you?”

Morgana nodded and neither blushed nor recoiled.

“Is he gentle?” Amina enquired after quickly noting something down.

“Gentler now,” Morgana said carefully. She did not want Amina reporting anything critical.

“Then tell him to be gentler still or to leave you be. I believe that you are carrying two babes, Your Highness.” She paused. It seemed to her that Morgana had already guessed at it, but she would give her a moment to digest it all the same. “This will put you under a lot of strain and there is more chance of loss. Keeping calm and happy will help but you will need a lot of rest and should not ride or be pulled by horses. The risk with both for accident is too great.” There was another, heavier pause. “What about your other lover?”

Morgana’s reddened cheeks turned ashen and her body ice cold. “There is no one else. I have a good husband and I am loyal to him.”

“Your knight – the one whose magic is flourishing in your babes,” Amina continued, undeterred. “The magic is a littler wilder than that of my family but it is kin to mine nonetheless. I can feel it thrumming in you, tasting of honey and a knight’s steel and fevered kisses.”

Morgana’s eyes widened.

“I take it he is at war? You are lucky that the babes are not his. I thought for a moment that they were. But no, the magic is still mingling with their blood, entwining with their souls. It has not always been there. They are definitely not his.”

“Then I am lucky,” Morgana answered simply, though she thought herself anything but. Lucky would be the babes being Morgause’s – lucky and miraculous. There was no mortal magic that strong. Morgause had told her so. “You will not tell a soul of my knight or the magic,” she added, her tone warning. “My King would have your life and that of your daughter should I be forced to tell him of your own magic.”

“You can rest assured that I will not tell a soul. I came here on your command and it is under you that I serve,” Amina promised.  “And like I said, my magic is kin to that of your children. One does not turn on kin.” She put her hand on Morgana’s arm. “You can trust me.”

Reluctantly, Morgana agreed.

 

 

***

 

 

The torches lining the pathways between the tents set a red glow inside Sir Leon’s temporary chambers. The room was large and round with a firepit in the centre and logs surrounding it, on which his Knights sat, drained.

“What damage have we taken?” Leon asked through gritted teeth as a nurse sewed shut the gash on his knee. They had taken near to sixty women with them for cooking, cleaning, mending and tending. Most were unmarried and hoped to find a hero to charm amongst the fighting. So far, it seemed to be Percival, Gwaine and Kay that received the most attentive service. Since the battle, though, Morgause too had her share of women eager to tend to her wounds. She and the other three were heroes. Leon could not have been prouder.

“100 men,” Morgause reported solemnly. “Sir Bors, Sir Francis, Sir Cormic and Sir Terrance from our company and the second. Ten more Knights. The rest were all knights.” She had perfected the intonation of the capital ‘K’ early in her career. Mispronunciation would earn a squire a split lip and a blackened eye, if not more. She had only needed to learn that lesson once.

“And our captives?”

That had been Gwaine’s responsibility since the battle – rounding up those unable to flee or salvageable enough that a quick death was not favourable. “The count is at sixty four. We cannot hold them all, never mind treat them.”

Morgause bit her lip as the woman tending her arrow-wound poured a clear wine-like liquid over her side. The bolt had gone straight through a flaw in her mail and grazed her side. An inch to the left and she would have been in trouble. As it was, it would be healed within the week – a virtue of her magical blood. Her only other wound was a cut on the top of her wrist where a deflection had not gone entirely to plan. There was another girl tending to that, wrapping a cloth bandage around it to stop it bleeding any more than the little it already had.

 “Let the commoners go. We can ransom the nobles,” Leon decided. “Those too weak to walk can be dealt with by their kinsmen. We will not begrudge them finding help for the wounded at the village downriver.”

“I shall have extra sentries posted at our perimeter tonight,” Owain suggested, ever cautious. He had lost his brother to carelessness when northern raiders had attacked the city. “Though I doubt forty men will attack us whilst we are so high up and in the open.”

“No, but the sentries should be doubled anyway,” Leon agreed. “We made a lot of noise in the battle and are sure to have attracted a few unsavoury bands of men willing to take their chances looting our tents.” He failed to suppress the grunt that passed through his tightly shut lips when his wound was given one last clean. “We can send letters with the men we free. If one of them gets back to King Edwin, we might just avert all-out war if one of our captives is valuable enough.”

“We _are_ riding on then?” Morgause asked, eager for more victory. She knew that they were not about to head home so quickly, even after such a tremendous win. They would only return once they had made Camelot safe.

“One of my scouts came back after the battle with news of a large Worcester settlement near a little village named Haydor just over the border. He estimated a thousand men in that camp and five hundred in another, smaller camp between us and them.”

“Then we march until we meet the first camp and hope word has reached King Edwin before we meet the second,” Percival supposed.

“And if it hasn’t?” Gwaine asked dubiously.

“We will have to pray hard and fight even harder.”

 

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fate of two kingdoms rests on one battlefield meeting, and it is in Morgause’s hands to deliver them from war.

A flash of ivory against the rising sun in the golden morn sky caught Morgause’s attention on the moment before the dove fluttered silently into her tent and perched beside its mate’s cage on the table, the pair cooing softly in greeting. Morgause carefully and quietly crossed the tent and scooped the dove up, cradling it to her chest to calm it. About its neck was a band of intertwined golden vines, heralding it as the Queen’s own bird. Trembling for the need of news from her love, Morgause took the letter from around its slender leg and caged it with its mate. They cooed again and huddled enviably close together - reunited.

Turning to the light of the morning so that she might read, Morgause rolled off the slim leather tie and unravelled the letter, drinking in the words inked in Morgana’s beautiful hand.

_My dear, brave champion,_

_I write with great news. The physician I sent for has come to see your Eleanor and was able to wake her. Amina – the physician – gave her a medicine that brought her out of her slumber and slowly back to health. She is giving her another remedy for her illness and your uncle says that she is much improved, though it has only been a week since her awakening. I cannot express what a beautiful relief it is to have finally seen your cousin’s warm eyes that look so like yours._

_Write to me? I need know you are well, for I cannot cease from fretting and Amina says that I must be calm for the babes’ sake. They grow restless without you near and I too grow agitated with them. We need you home with us. Please tell me it will be soon. The last two months have passed so very slowly without you._

_Know that you have mine and Camelot’s love, always,_

_Your Queen_

_post scriptum – Gwen sends her love and says that she prays for you. As do I._ __

Morgause smiled brightly and held the letter close to her heart, thanking the Gods for Morgana and everything she did, and for saving Eleanor as only their mighty will could. She closed her eyes and her smile lightened even more as she used her magic to caress the cords running from her centre across miles and endless miles, wondering if Morgana could feel it. When her eyes opened, she saw the young nurse who had been tending her wounds staring at her, smiling.

“A letter from your sweetheart?” she asked, an impish smile playing on her delicate pink lips. She was slight with light gold skin and fair brown hair that curled in ringlets about her heart-shaped face and she smiled.

“It is news of my cousin. She was very ill when I left and has since recovered,” Morgause revealed, keeping the sender of the letter’s identity to herself. She folded the parchment up and stuck it in her pocket, before moving to sit back down in front the woman whose name she had yet to ask. It was unlike her to be so discourteous. She apologised and quickly rectified her transgression.

“Kayleigh,” the woman said in answer to her question. It suited her, young and bright eyed as she was. She could not have been older than Morgana had been when she married Uther. It occurred to her that Kayleigh’s mother might have sent her out to the camp to find herself a knight for a husband. If that was what she hoped for, she had chosen the wrong tent.

“I am Morgause,” Morgause said next, remembering her manners. “And I am very grateful for your care. Your village has been so gracious to tend to our knights and those injured on the other side. Not many recently occupied villages would be so kind to their former captors. You do Camelot proud.”

Kayleigh’s fingers brushed down her bare arm and she shivered. It seemed like an age since she had felt Morgana’s gentle touch. But this was not Morgana and she oughtn’t to be feeling so flattered.

“It is the will of your Commander that captured Worcesterians be treated. And you needn’t have told me your name. I know who you are. We have heard tales of your bravery and valour, and of your gallantry too.” She sat down behind Morgause and wound her arm around her waist, pressing into her back with the thinly veiled pretence of checking the wound to her side. “They say that you are the truest knight in all the kingdoms. Every one of us dreams of being the maiden you choose to tend to you for the rest of the war and to be taken care of by you in return.”

For a moment, Morgause wondered what it would be like to turn around and kiss her. She wondered what she would taste like and how her bare skin – skin kept hidden from the sun – would feel like under her fingers. She wondered what she would look like laid out bare on the furs Morgause slept on and how she would gasp and whimper. But the image in Morgause’s head was not of this Kayleigh but of Morgana’s divine form. The woman in her mind was not skinny-armed and flat-stomached like the nurse but quickened and rounded like Morgana had been the last time they had lain together. It was Morgana she wanted, not anyone else.

“And for gallantry’s sake, I must ask that you withdraw. Your honour is a precious thing and I would have it upheld at all costs,” Morgause said softly, standing and moving away. Her back felt icy cold without the warm curves of a woman pressed up behind her. The loss was crushing.

“Your sweetheart needn’t know,” Kayleigh reasoned, following her. She reached out and touched her arm again, closing her fingers gently around the taught muscle there. “A Knight cannot be expected not to slake their lust after a battle. Many of your brothers spent the dark hours doing just that with the girls from my village. If they are lucky, their Knight will find them pleasurable enough to keep in a village nearer the city, where they are within an hour riding distance for a night’s joining. It is a privileged position that any girl would dream of.”

“Such things may go on in the lower Companies but certainly not in the First Company and certainly not with me. This is not talk that I will entertain,” Morgause said firmly. She turned around to see Kayleigh staring at her with big damp eyes, looking so very young. “Go home, Kayleigh. Please.”

Leon was at the entrance to her tent when Morgause looked up, holding the flap open as the girl ran out, tears overflowing.

“Well that could have been handled better,” he said appraisingly, turning to watch the girl go. When she was out of sight, he stepped inside and let the flap close behind him. “Gwaine managed to turn his down without making her cry.”

Morgause sighed and sat down heavily on her wooden armoury chest. “Good for Gwaine.”

She was not nearly as bitter as she sounded and she knew that Leon would know that. He knew her too well to think that something like this would bother her. Still, he gave her a sharp look to remind her that he was her Commander and her just a Knight.

“Do not get comfortable. A Worcesterian envoy has arrived. King Edwin himself is among them. I want you there when I talk to him.”

Morgause’s heart skipped a beat and she scrambled to her feet. Talks could mean the end of the war or they serve to make it only bloodier.

 

 

 

***

 

 

The Queen awoke with her lady-in-waiting’s warm body at her back, her heat keeping away the bitter winter cold. It had been over a month since Uther had frequented her bed and almost 3 weeks since he had sought her attentions at all. Morgana was not sure whether it had been Amina’s warnings to the King that his wife needed to refrain from such exertions or if it had just been her quickly growing belly that was keeping him away. Either way, she was sleeping soundly for the first time since Morgause road out to war two long months earlier. In that time she had received little word of the Camelot’s position in the war. She knew that four battles had been fought and won: the Battle of Ignis Vale, the Battle of the White River, the Battle of the Borderlands and the Battle of All Souls. What she did not know was the damage their forces had taken in the battles or if any of the Knights she knew had died. She thought particularly on the First Company  and the men who had been so kind on her journey home from Mermering. Morgause’s letters had been infrequent and short, and although Morgana knew this was how it must be to keep their secret safe, it did not ease her aching loneliness.

“Are you awake?” Morgana whispered, clutching the warm gold teardrop pendant over her heart. The pendant had arrived on her birthday the month before, with a note that said simply:

_To warm your heart in the cold months of separation._

_All my love,_

_Your Champion_

And warm her heart it did. Fastened to her gold mail necklace, it lay above her heart, giving off unnatural warmth – _magic_. If she touched her fingers to it, she could taste Morgause’s magic slip past her lips and caress her tongue, slipping down her throat and warming her from the inside like a kiss of flame.  The longer she held it between her fingers, the stronger the sensation got, until she was overflowing with it, leaking magic from her fingers and toes, breathing it out and glowing with it. Nothing would ever feel as close as that did to being in Morgause’s arms.

“Yes. I am awake,” Gwen replied, biting her tongue as always to stop herself from adding ‘my lady’ to the end of each sentence.

Morgana released the pendant.

“Amina thinks that I will carry to February, not January. Uther will be furious.” Morgana had found out the news the day before when she had mentioned the physician at Mermering’s assertion that the babe would be born on or around the Epiphany. To her embarrassment, Amina had insisted she count the months herself and see if that date fit. It did not. It seemed that Mermering’s physician had guessed her to be almost two months further gone than she was – due to the fact she carried more than one babe.  “He had his heart set on the babe being born on a feast day.”

“The King cannot argue with nature,” Gwen said soothingly. “He is overjoyed – as all of Camelot are – that you are bearing him two heirs. He cannot blame you for how long it takes. Tell him that this way their birth day will be free for a feast to be named for them in the years to come.”

“But three more months, Gwen!”

Gwen laughed and rubbed her belly. “They will be here soon enough, and you’ll wish you had more time to ready.”

 

 

***

 

 

Uther took the news better than expected. It seemed that he was eager to write off any man of Mermering as being as incapable as the town’s defences, even if that meant waiting for his heirs. The feast notion seemed to take his fancy too. Gwen had been right about that.

The topic her broached next was one that Morgana had been expecting for some while.

“It’s time you were confined to your chambers,” Uther said decisively, eyeing her swollen belly over the table. “I will not have our future put at risk for the sake of a stroll through the gardens.”

Even though Morgana had known he would say this eventually, it did not prepare her for how angry she felt when he did. “I will go out of my mind if I am caged like that! Give me the freedom to roam and I will be far happier and healthier, you will see.”

Uther raised an eyebrow. It amused him now when she lashed out. He saw it as proof of his son’s strong will. Morgana had heard him boast of it to the court nobles, patting her belly and talking about her like she was not there. She felt as though she were a walking cradle – only good for what was inside her. It made her anger flame to no end, imagining herself taking Morgause’s sword and running him through with it. But Morgause’s sword was somewhere else, miles away with the woman who wielded it.

“You cannot be expected to know what is best for yourself. You are only a woman,” Uther said dismissively, considering the debate over. “And beyond that, Gaius has warned me that a woman with child is no more capable of making decisions than the babe inside her. I expect you to obey me, Morgana, especially in this. Or I will have the guards posted inside your chamber and have you confined to your bed, without your lady-in-waiting to keep you company.”

Morgana seethed and bit her tongue. Maids shared lady’s beds all the time – especially when the weather turned cold. Not even Uther would baulk at that. No, he made the threat because he knew that she was fond of Gwen and that being isolated from her was the worst punishment he could enforce, as things were.

“As you command, my King,” Morgana cheeped obediently. There was no point in arguing with him. She smiled, pretending to accept his orders and move on. “Have you any word from the Knights this morning?”

Uther nodded and shoved twice a forkful of cold ham into his mouth, chewing it with his lips parted. It turned Morgana’s stomach.

“A dove came with first light,” he mumbled around his food. “Another battle won. They are calling it The Battle for Little Grange after the village they liberated. ”

“And what of our men?” Morgana asked impatiently, as she had after every such dove had come home. She never got an answer.

“That is not for you to worry about,” Uther said, sternness quickly coming back into his voice. He was still annoyed at her for questioning him. No one questioned the King. That went double for his wife. His dominion over her was twofold. Knowledge was power and he liked her powerless.

Again, Morgana conceded. She would know if anything had happened to Morgause, she was sure of it. Word of the other men would come with Morgause’s next letter, she hoped. It was not in her to be so selfish that the only Knight or knight whose safety she feared for was Morgause’s. Her prayers to the old Gods begged safety for every one of her citizens. They were, all of them, her children in a sense. Uther had given her that burden from the moment he told her that they were to marry. But maybe she had felt that way before then too.  It was difficult to remember when something so essential began. She would pray for them all again that night and every night until she died, whether that be with the birth of her babes or when they were both grown and had babes of their own.

“If you are just going to stare at your food then I will have it,” Uther growled.

Morgana narrowed her eyes, done with being subservient for the day. “Not unless you want your babes to starve.” And with that she picked up the plate and left.

 

 

***

 

 

The tent was draped in the reds and golds of the Pendragon arms – a warning to King Edwin of Worcester that Pendragon knights surrounded him on all sides, even when he could not see them. Edwin was, Morgause noticed, far younger than Uther. His face was barely lined and his hair was a vivid copper. She had not seen his like among the nobles before. A red head of hair was a signature of the Northern bloodlines just as Morgana’s pitch black hair betrayed her Western birth. Perhaps his ancestors had been among the few Northerners to betray their kin and help the Romans in their lust for power. Or maybe he took the throne by force as the Pendragons once had.

“Do you have the authority to speak for King Uther Pendragon of Camelot?” Edwin asked in a bellowing voice of the like that echoey caves gave to other, lesser men.

“I do,” answered Sir Leon, Commander of the Knights of Camelot and Keeper of the City. He handed the foreign King a roll of parchment confirming it.

 Edwin read it and tossed it onto the table between them. From her vantage point behind her Commander, Morgana could see that the hand he used to throw it was bandaged. She wondered if he had actually fought alongside his men. It was more than could be said for Camelot’s King.

“I trust that you know the cause of this war, seeing as you are the one fighting it,” Edwin began.

“A treaty was not successfully signed between our two great kingdoms. I believe there was a slight towards your family. Camelot apologises,” Leon imparted smoothly, leaving Uther’s name out of it for the time being. There was no use angering the King with the name of a man he so obviously despised.

“ _’Camelot’_ got my maiden daughter with child,” Edwin bit. “She was a girl of eighteen, promised to King Tolin, whose kingdom is south by the sea. Now the betrothal has been declared null and hundreds of men lie in unmarked graves.”

Morgause wanted to say that no matter what had happened to Edwin’s daughter, it should not have been the spark for war. All those deaths were avoidable. But this was the game played by kings. Peasants did not matter. Of course she was angry about what Uther had done, but she was a thousand times more angry at King Edwin for taking it out on the people of Camelot.

“The act of war was not made by us,” Sir Leon said as non-inflammatorily as he could. “Think of your people. Should they really suffer for a foreign King’s transgressions?”

“So you admit it then! A slight against my house is a slight against all of Worcester,” Edwin insisted. “It is for the honour of name and that of my kingdom that this war is fought.”

For a moment, Morgause’s mind wandered. It had been less than a month after King Edwin’s departure from Camelot that Gwen’s brother saw the fires in the forest. According to the book she had taken from the castle library, a physician could not confirm that a woman was with child until two months had passed from the conception at least. Unless Worcester’s midwives knew something that Camelot’s did not, then there something amiss in Edwin’s reported motives. There was no way that he could have known that his Princess Elena was carrying Uther’s babe when he began to march.

“May I ask a question, my lord?” Morgause enquired, taking a step forward so that Edwin noticed her for the first time.

“And who are you, _girl_?” the King asked sharply.

“This is Lady Morgause Wilde, Knight of the First Order and Champion of Her Royal Highness Queen Morgana Pendragon. If I speak on behalf of the King, then she speaks on behalf of the Queen,” Leon answered just as brusquely. He did not take kindly to people misspeaking to his Knights, not even Kings. “So I trust you will treat her with more respect. If a slight to House Grey and your good name is a slight to Worcester, then a slight to the Lady Morgause is a slight to the Queen and so a slight to the kingdom.”

Edwin did not look amused. “Ask your question.”

“It is true that you left Camelot at the end of August?” Morgause asked.

“Yes.”

“Your army was spotted ready to cross the border in the last week of September. That is one month from when you left Camelot. In that time, it would not be possible to know if the Princess had conceived the King’s child,” Morgause asserted. She knew that she was right the moment she said it, for a little of the ire left Edwin’s eyes. “In fact, it would only be possible to tell in the last month, long after the war began.”

Leon turned to her. “Are you sure of this?”

“Yes, Commander. I am certain.”

Leon nodded. Morgause’s word was good enough for him.

Edwin snorted. “You have no proof of that. The word of a woman, even if it is a woman speaking for the Queen, cannot be upheld against the word of a king.”

“I have proof,” Morgause continued. “I have a book in my tent which details the ways of childbearing as observed by the great physician Ptalin of Rome. Would you argue with him, Your Highness?”

“Need I have it fetched so that we can all see it in print?” Leon asked, starring coldly at Edwin, daring him to say yes. If this man had brought death on Leon’s people on nothing more than a folly, he would pay for it. When the King was silent, Leon challenged, “Was it not your intention all along to have your daughter bed down with our King and cry that she carried his babe? Was it not your intention to use this outrageous scandal to justify an invasion of our good land?”

The King could say nothing. It was clear that Leon had the right of it.

“Then I suggest, Your Highness, that you sign the treaty we have prepared, lead your men from our land and compensate us twice over for the damage and loss of life that this uncalled for war has caused.”

“And if I refuse?” Edwin snarled, gripping the hilt of his sword.

The three Knights and four knight guards drew their swords, outnumbering Edwin and his guards more than two to one.

“Then you will not leave this tent alive and will, by the laws of this land, forfeit your Kingdom to Uther Pendragon, whose own hand through me did slay you in war.”

 The King took his hand from his sword and glared at Morgause. “You will pay for this, _girl_ , in the foulest of ways. I shall make sure of that.”

 

 

***

 

 

 

The victory announcement was sent that morning in Sir Leon’s calligraphic hand to the King, Queen and noble houses of Camelot. It told of the valour that Camelot’s men had shown in battle and the mercy with which they had treated their captives. It told of Edwin’s plot to take Camelot by force in an unjust war and of how the plot was uncovered by the Lady Morgause of House Wilde, Knight of the First Company. It sang of a thousand glories won and of the homecoming of brave knights and Knights, all of them heroes.

Uther cried out in victory when he read the letter, crumpling the soft parchment in his hand and calling for wine and good food. He and his council drank to the men of Camelot and to Sir Leon for winning them a great victory. They even, on the bidding of Terrance Wymann, drank a toast to House Wilde and a fourth victory won for Camelot in its name.

When Rivalen Wilde read aloud the victory proclamation to his family, the house was filled with cheer and joy. Rivalen and Flor danced in the shadowy kitchen to the music thrumming from streets. The children stayed up until dawn making a circlet of heather, willow wood and snowdrops to crown their aunt when she came home to them as warriors were crowned in the days when the Wildes ruled and the Old Religion flourished in the land. She was their hero twice over and both of them wanted to grow up to be just like her. One of them would.

When Elyan heard the news from one of the patrons at his smithy, he shut shop for the day and ran home to tell Anwen, who cradled their daughter close and kissed her husband as if he himself had won them the war – for in her eyes, he had.

Morgana wept when she read the letter, her tears falling to the parchment and making the words swim and come alive. She fell to her knees and gave thanks to the Gods, not caring if Gwen was there to see and hear her. Gwen went down on her knees beside her, thanking her God and promising to keep another of Morgana’s secrets. The tears were still streaming down Morgana’s face when she kissed her and held her tight, whispering words of adoration and gratitude. They were closer then than they had ever been before, and Gwen would treasure it. She would never feel another love like the love she felt for her Queen. Never.

When they finally got up off the floor, Morgana put on a new dress that flowed and curved over her swollen stomach, and Gwen wove threads of silver in her hair. Defying Uther’s command, she donned her finest crown and went down to the great hall to celebrate with the nobles and servants alike, taking the roses they gave to her until her arms overflowed with them and she left a trail of blood-red petals wherever she went, her babes kicking for joy at their Morgause’s victory.

Morgana spent the night planning in her head how she would welcome Morgause home, rewarding her for her great victory and showing her just how thankful she was to her beautiful, brave Knight.

It would be most satisfying to be Morgause’s spoils of war.

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Implied attempted sexual assault

They had been travelling for a week – making their weary way home to the ones they loved and the lives they could never truly go back to living. It was that life that played on Morgause’s mind, keeping her awake. She sat cross-legged before the saffron fire, surrounded by red canvas and flickering shadows that seemed to circle her as she worked, playing off the light wooden furniture and fur-covered floor. For the last seven nights she had slept in the tent alone. Several tents had been made vacant by the battles and the men had voted that they should go to the highest ranked Knights. It was supposed to be a reward but the loneliness felt like a punishment from the gods.

To ward off melancholic thoughts, she cradled in her left hand a shrinking block of limewood and in her right a carving knife. Her head was bowed over her hands and her golden hair, copper-red in the firelight, fell in long, glittering ringlets that reached almost to her lap. It had not been cut since she left Morgana’s arms and it would not be until she was back in them – a romantic tradition of her father’s making. The carving was his as well. He had always returned home with some new toy for her when he went away. She was not sure that she could ever match his curving goddess figurines or sharp-eared foxes, but she could manage a couple of good, solid rings for the babes to bite on as they teethed. Animals would come with practice, she hoped.

“Maybe by the time that they are old enough to appreciate it,” she murmured, curving the knife over the edge of the ring, smoothing it.

Sighing, she blinked and tucked her hair behind her right ear. Her eyes were beginning to sting from the smoke and her movements were growing less precise. A yawn rose up from her chest and her head tipped back with it like a lioness giving a silent roar. Sleep was one foe that she could not seem to beat, no matter how terrible her dreams would be. Dropping the wood and the knife on the fur beneath her, she rocked forward onto her knees and got unsteadily to her feet. She ran her hand though her hair – kept smooth and tangle-free by the oil Gwen had sent with her – and yawned again.

For the first time since the war began, sleep came to her the second her head hit the makeshift pillow.

 

***

 

Leon sighed in relief as Morgause’s silhouette finally took to bed. One of them at least would have to be alert come morning, and it would not be any other man of the First Company. Unbeknownst to Morgause, her brothers stood a circled guard around her tent. They had done so every night since the defeated King made his vile threat. Morgause was one of them – their brother, their sister. She had fought with the bravery of the Pendragon dragon in battle and had saved each of their lives more than once. They would die to keep her safe from Edwin’s wrath.

 

***

 

Soon Morgause was dreaming that she was in Morgana’s arms once more, holding her close and whispering devotions to her and the gods alike for such a sweet dream.  She knew it was a dream, for Morgana looked just as she did when they last laid eyes on one another, but that did not bother her. All that mattered was Morgana’s gentle touch and the sweet smell of the scented oils that Gwen anointed her with. In Morgana’s arms, the woes of war seemed a very long way away.

“My love, my Queen,” Morgause murmured reverently, her hand sliding up to Morgana’s jaw as she kissed her.

Morgana smiled and nuzzled against her. “My champion,” she whispered, returning the endearment. “My love.”

Morgause closed her eyes and felt her body shiver, overwhelmed.

“I beg you - wake up,” Morgana urged softly. Then a little louder, “It is not safe for you to sleep this night. Please, my love, wake up.”

Jolted, Morgause awoke, her eyes struggling to focus in the darkness. The fire had died down to mere embers and the shadows in the tent had grown larger and stranger – they were moving. Before she could take another breath, her sword was in her hand and she was on her feet. War had quickened her movements and Morgana’s warning had her on edge.

As sleep ebbed away, a peal of swords ringing together erupted around her. Men began shouting for help – Camelot’s men by their accents. Turning on the spot, Morgause saw that her tent was surrounded by fighting, the clashing figures silhouetted against the canvas by the brighter fires crackling outside. Her grip tightened on her sword and she rushed for the tent entrance, desperate to see what was going on and aid her brothers if need be. A few scuffles had broken out amongst the knights before, but this felt different. Morgana would not wake her for nothing.

“Not so fast, girl,” a gruff voice called from the darkness. “We have unfinished business, you and me.”

When Edwin stepped into the light, Morgause’s blood ran cold and her knees suddenly felt no sturdier than water.

“That we do,” Morgause replied, her voice shakier than she would like. She would not show this man weakness. “We have buried near two hundred of our men in this war and so far you have not been made to answer for their deaths.”

Edwin snorted a laugh. “Drop the act, girl. You are no knight. We both know that.”

“That is a lie,” Morgause snarled, her body becoming solid again in her rage. Nothing flared her ire more than men’s poor treatment of women. “I am more of a knight than you or your men will ever be.”

Again, Edwin laughed, advancing on her slowly – a predator playing with his prey. “Did your Commander tell you that before or after he took you? My guess is after. Girls like you always need sweet words to stop them crying afterwards.”

“Do not dare speak of Sir Leon like that!” Morgana spat, her jaw clenched and her sword poised to strike. “He is a true Knight – gallant and respectful of women.”

“Is that what he told you?”

Morgause refused to play this game. He was trying to unnerve her but he had no idea how far off the mark he was.

Rushing forward, she caught him off guard, their swords meeting an inch in front of Edwin’s face. The steel locked but he easily pushed her away. She was no match for his oxen strength. This was a fight she would have to win with cunning, form and speed. Nothing new there then.

Parrying back, she evaded his quick return blow, using his momentum to sweep it aside.

“Not bad,” Edwin said condescendingly, speaking to show that he had yet to exert himself, “for a girl.”

“A girl who cut down a hundred of your men,” she retorted. The number was exaggerated but not by far. Edwin’s army had been all but decimated before the truce was signed. Morgana, along with Gwaine and Leon, had been proclaimed a hero. She could not think of herself as a hero, though. She was ashamed to admit that she did not know how many men she had killed. It was so contorted in her mind that she could not trust her own memory.

Edwin’s eyes narrowed. “You mean that your gallant Sir Leon let you out of his bed long enough for you to see the battlefield? I would not have made that mistake.”

Morgana’s reply came as another attack that struck as quickly as her heart was beating. Again, Edwin blocked it, but with more effort this time.

“A weak man, is he? That why you are so keen to come at me? Do not worry, girl, you will never walk straight again after I am done with you,” Edwin sneered, grabbing his crotch. “Who will protect that Queen of yours then, eh?”

A fear greater than any she had felt before struck her like a dousing of icy water. But only for a moment. He had made a mistake in threatening Morgana. Morgause’s anger ignited and drove her forward with a kind of strength that she had never felt before. A voice in her head – Leon’s - told her to go low and strike up. That was where her advantage lay – her size and speed. Obeying him without a thought, she lunged forward onto her knees and thrust her sword upwards, piercing the Edwin’s rounded stomach through the gap in his leather jerkin. In his arrogance, he had not worn his mail, giving her a clean shot at his weakest point.

With a cry, she drove the point of her sword home, plunging it effortlessly through the man’s soft flesh to pierce his dishonourable heart. She shrieked again and retracted her weapon, closing her eyes as blood gushed from the wound – painting her in victorious red.

A stuttering wail came from Edwin’s mouth and a sickening stench filled the air. Morgause’s eyes watered from the vile scent of the king’s demise, making her stumble as she dashed to the side to get out of the way of the tumbling King. He hit the ground with a wet thud and fixed her with an unending stare. A stare that he could never break.

“Morgause!” Percival shouted, panic in his voice as he hastened to her side.

“I’m alright,” she insisted breathlessly, heaving the instant she tasted Edwin’s blood on her lips.

Percival patted her back as she brought up her dinner, waiting for her to catch her breath again before he asked, “What happened?”

“He… He…” Her stomach lurched again and acid stung at her tongue.

“Alright,” he whispered, tenderly holding back her hair. “It’s okay. Just breathe.” He lifted his head and shouted for Gwaine, for anyone. Only then did Morgause realise that the commotion outside had died down. Through the gash of the tent flap she could see Worcester men being dragged limply away.

“Shit,” Gwain exclaimed, appearing in the doorway and blocking her view. “Get her out of here, Percival.”

The large Knight nodded and scooped Morgause up into his arms as if she weighed nothing more than a rag doll. Morgause let him carry her – let him take her away from the icy memory of her own fear and the stench of Edwin’s end.

She could not think, not clearly. She had killed a King. Committed regicide. And after the treaty had been signed.

What would happen now?

 

 

***

 

 

Just after daybreak Morgause was summoned to Sir Leon’s tent. Percival, who had not left her side, accompanied her. He had stripped her down to her smallclothes and gently washed the blood from her skin and hair. After she was clean, he tended to the shoulder wound that she had not felt being inflicted in the heat of the fight, and helped her dress again in fresh clothes. Someone had done it for him once, he explained when she weakly protested, when a fight in his youth had left him unable to do anything but relive that life-ending moment again and again. He told her that it would get better, no matter how absurd that seemed to her then. Morgause tried to believe, she really did, but there was a cold, empty feeling inside her that she feared no warmth could shift.

As they reached Leon’s tent, the guards motioned for Percival to wait outside. He squeezed Morgause’s arm and wished her luck. On impulse, he hugged her to him and kissed her hair. He loved her as he loved all his brothers, but all in the company were united in loving Morgause best.

Morgause looked up at him blankly, wishing that she could thank him.

“We’re with you,” he promised her, nodding his head to Gwaine and the other Knights of the First Company standing steady in support behind him.

With an uncertain nod, she turned from them and stepped into the gloom of the tent.

The table where Leon usually took company was empty and unused at the mouth of the tent. If it weren’t for the sounds of shuffling feet and hushed conversation, Morgause would have thought the tent empty. Even with the noise to guide her eyes, she had to squint into the darkness to make out the figure propped up on the raised bed and the two women fussing around him.

“Come,” Leon commanded, his voice a little thin.

He waved away his nurses and they swept like shadows from the tent.

“Commander?” Morgause asked, emotion suddenly flooding into her in the form of worry, of fear. “What hap-”

“One of Edwin’s men caught me unawares,” he explained, beckoning her closer to see the white linen wrapped around his calf. “The little bugger crawled through the undergrowth and cut my tendon with a dagger. I thought I heard something, but I was looking for a standing foe, not a one on his belly.” He took her hand and bid her to sit beside him on the bed. She reached out and touched the bandage, as if she could tell how bad a wound he had taken. “It is nothing that will not heal,” he assured her in a not all too convincing tone. “You are the one I am worried about. Gwaine tells me that you are not talking. Tell me, did he…”

She shook her head, a tear falling onto their joined hands. Leon broke their contact and brought his hand to her chin, bringing her eyes up to meet his.

“Would he have?”

Morgause nodded, tears flowing.

“Hush,” he soothed, wiping away her tears and pulling her down to him. Gratefully, she let him take her in his arms, laying her head on his chest and holding onto him tight. “You have done us proud, Morgause. _We_ are the ones who failed _you_. We heard his threat. He should never have been allowed to enter your tent – _never_.”

She sobbed an apology, her words almost indiscernible through he tears.

“For what? Killing a King? Morgause, I do not think you realise what you have done. Edwin would never have conceded as he claimed to have done. He would have attacked again – whether that would have been in a week or a year, we know it would have happened. But God alone knows how many more of our people would have lost their lives to his vendetta, his greed. With one thrust of your sword, you have wrenched his kingdom from his cold, loathsome hands,” Leon asserted, holding her tight. “And with it, you have taken out Camelot’s biggest threat. I have a document signed by Uther’s own hand that declares you as Queen Morgana’s presence on the battlefield, with Sir William Grouse representing Queen Igraine in the Three Years War as precedence. That means that your victories are the Queen victories.”

Morgause looked up at him, confused.

“Worcester belongs to the Queen now. And yes, that means it belongs to the King. But law states that any property inherited or taken by a woman after her marriage goes not to her son after her husband dies, but to her. You have given your Queen a kingdom of her own. And she will be the very first the hold that right.”

 

 

***

 

 

“Morgana!”

Startled, Morgana clutched her mauve silk dress to her chest and gasped. When she saw that it was only Gwen – red cheeked and face shining – who had come bursting through her door, she let the dress drop and sighed in relief. She had been trying on the new nightdress that Gwen had made for her, and the material of it was so thin that it was almost sheer. It would not do to have anyone but Gwen see her in such a state, even though it was practical purposes. The fantastically expensive material was more than thin enough to keep her cool at night – something which the babes had recently made all but impossible, despite the cold weather. Morgana quietly thought it quite an achievement for them, no matter how much discomfort it brought her.

“You gave me a fright,” Morgana admonished fondly, smiling at her friend. “What do you think?”  She raised her arms and did a little twirl, the long train on the nightdress twisting around her feet. “Will she like it?”

Of course, there were other less practical reasons that she had commissioned the nightdress.

Gwen smiled, her breathing slowly returning to normal. “She… She will not be able to resist you. No one could with you in that. Morgause will love it.”

Morgana dropped her head and blushed, her smile shy. “I hope so.”

“I know so.”

“I do hope that she will be home in time to see me in it. At this rate, it will not fit me for more than a week.” It was a slight exaggeration, but the babes were growing so quickly now that Morgana was amazed she could still stand.

Gwen laughed then. “Oh, I think she will make it.” When Morgana gave her a puzzled look, she continued. “The advance riders have just arrived. Morgause and the other Knights will be here by sundown.”

With a shriek of delight, Morgana held out her arms for Gwen to fall into.

She was nearly home. Her love was nearly home.

 

 

***

 

 

 

Morgana leant back against the high table, tired after more than three hours on her feet. It took time for a gown such as hers to be put together, and it had been rather short notice. Gwen had required her to stand on a platform so that the purple silk could be pinned and smoothed. Unlike the blues she wore, this purple was lighter and so could take heavier adornment. It was woven through with silver thread and studded with tiny crystals trapped in little cages of cotton. Silver embroidery picked out curving vines over her rounded stomach and an intricate border at the neckline to draw the eye. It was one thing not hiding her body but another thing all together to let people’s eyes rest on it. Not that the adorned neckline had made any difference in practice. Every man and woman in the hall had gazed almost hungrily at her swollen belly as she entered on Uther’s arm. The attention had almost made her bolt.

“Stand up, Morgana,” Uther hissed under his breath. “They will be here any second.”

Sighing, Morgana ran her hand over her belly. “You try carrying this much weight for this long and standing up straight,” she retorted.

Uther shrugged his shoulders, making his armour chime. Morgana had to concede that he carried a good deal of extra weight too when he was dressed in his ceremonial plate.

“Well then try having your armour feed off you.” She squirmed as one of the babes kicked. “Try having your armour aiming kicks at your vital organs.”

That made Uther chuckle and reach over to pat his wife’s stomach. “Behave for your mother,” he whispered and, despite all he had done, Morgana could not help the pleasant fluttering sensation it gave her to see him already so fatherly. She blamed being so sentimental on Morgause’s nearness. It was easy to feel warmly towards Uther when her Knight was by her side.

She soon became impatient with his lingering touch when he did not remove his hand as, with a creek and the sound of trumpets, the oaken doors swung open, revealing the Knights.

The hall got to its feet and Morgana, eager for the best view, stood up straight, her heart pounding. Uther’s hand fell away from her.

At the front of the column came their Commander, Sir Leon, splendid in plate that was dented from battle.  His hair was worn short, making it seem darker, and his face was shaved clean, showing a new pink scar on his cheek. He looked every bit the victorious commander, weathered by battle and still standing tall. Though, maybe, not quite as tall as he had been when he left. The news had come to the Queen from servant to servant; from the stable boy who took Leon’s horse, then to the scullery maid of the Knight’s quarters, onto the washerwomen and finally to Emilie and so onto Morgana. But whatever she had expected, it had not been to see Sir Leon barely able to walk unaided, with his left leg bent and him unable to straighten it. But still, he walked into the hall under no one’s power but his own – his jaw tight with the pain it brought him.

Behind him, the Knights walked three abreast. First were the heroes of the war: Sir Gwaine the Good, so named for his mercy on the battlefield; Lady Morgause the Lionheart, so called for her supremacy in battle and for slaying the King who dared to invade Camelot; and Sir Percival the Bold, who held his small force against an enemy twice as large. They looked glorious side by side. But there was only one of those three whom Morgana had eyes for. And only one she could not quite see.

No matter how high she teetered on the tips of her toes, she could not see past Sir Leon to get a look at her love. In frustration, she sighed loud enough to draw Uther’s attention even amongst the thunderous applause that accompanied the Knight’s entrance. He followed her gaze and saw where her annoyance came from.

“It must have been hard being parted from a friend at such a trying time,” Uther sympathised.

Morgana turned to him, shocked by his empathy. “It… Yes. I has been hard,  my King.”

He smiled. “I hoped you would get along. Looking after you is a job far more suited to a woman than the tough training that the rest of the Knights spend their days with. I had planned to replace her as your guard once the babes are born.” Morgana’s heart skipped a beat. “But I am willing to concede to the recommendation Sir Leon sent by dove last week. Any Knight who could slay a powerful King like Edwin is more than capable of protecting a babe. And there are other advantages to Morgause being your guard. She is of good blood. Good company for you.”

Morgana wanted to hug and hit him all at the same time. Instead she turned back to the room, just in time to meet Morgause’s eyes for a fleeting moment before the Knights fell to one knee before the dais, obscuring her from view. In the seconds after their eye contact had broken, Morgana rushed to try to understand that there had been something different about Morgause’s gaze. It was… dull. Duller. There was no shine. No warmth. No life. Morgana’s heart thudded then seemed to stop.

“Rise, good men,” Uther invited, holding out his hand to the Knights bowed before them. Morgana noted he was smiling. For once at these public occasions, the smile on his hard lips was genuine, warm even. Then again, he had just won a war and was expecting his first heir to be put in his arms very soon. He had little not to be happy about.

The same, it seemed, could not be said for Morgause. As the Knights got back to their feet, all of them smiling to see their King so pleased with them, Morgause’s mouth remained slack. Impassive. She kept her eyed downcast and seemed not to listen as Uther gave his victory speech. Morgana too let his words pass by her ears unheard. She still had not caught more than a glimpse of Morgause and though she knew that she must try to make eye contact with each of the retuning warriors, it was hard to tear her eyes away from her Knight. She was sure that if she could meet her eyes again, things would be different. After two long hours at the feast with nothing more to say for her efforts than having gotten a semi-decent view of the top half of the back of Morgause’s head, Morgana decided to retire and wait for Morgause in her chambers. Even if that meant waiting all night, she was sure that Morgause would come and that her eyes would be full of warmth again.

 

 

***

 

 

 

The feast to welcome them home was the most surreal experience of Morgause’s life. Everything around her felt intangible, as if she was living in a dream too good to be true and too good to stand. Before her was the first kitchen-cooked meal she had seen for almost three months and, despite how fervently they had all fantasised about it, she could not bring herself to enjoy it. The chicken was tasteless. The pork was tasteless. The spiced apple sauce was tasteless. All of it tasteless and bland – just like the conversation, the music and company.

Opposite her, Percival caught her gaze and held it for a moment. There was no point in him trying to talk to her; the din from the hall was so loud that Morgause could not even identify the song being played by the minstrel at the end of the table, despite being able to see his lips move with every word.

Percival smiled at her weakly and looked away.

She felt like a stranger in her own mind.

 

 

***

 

 

“And you are sure that she said to you that she is coming tonight?” Morgana asked, craning her neck around to try to see Gwen’s expression.

Gwen did not answer right away as she was working at fixing dainty purple flowers into Morgana’s herringbone braided hair, her look one of deep concentration – eyes narrowed, cheeks flushed and tongue peeking out from between damp lips.

“Yes, Morgana,” Gwen said eventually. “She is coming to you tonight. She promised.”

Morgana bit her lip and smiled. Gwen had done wonders with her in the hour or so since she had left the feast. She almost felt worthy to welcome Morgause home.

Out of nowhere, guilt struck her at taking up Gwen’s time for something so frivolous and pointless.

“I am sorry for dragging you away from the festivities. I know that I should try harder to stay through these things now that you may sit and enjoy with the other guests whilst I am there,” Morgana apologised. “Next time I will stay until the end, I promise.”

“Nonsense. I would rather be here with you than forced to make awkward conversations with the distant families of Knights and courtiers.”

“My fault again,” Morgana said quietly. “If I had other ladies-in-waiting like a true Queen, then you would be seated with them and be happy.”

Gwen tugged on Morgana’s braid playfully. “I am happiest with you. I don’t want to share you with anyone else. You having a maid besides me is bad enough.”

Morgana laughed. “I hardly ever see Emilie.”

“I know. I am good at diverting her to other tasks,” Gwen said mischievously, tilting her head so that Morgana could see her impish smile over her shoulder in the mirror.

Morgana’s eyes glinted and she matched the smile with a radiant one of her own, lighting up her face and colouring in her cheeks.

“There,” Gwen said, kissing her shoulder through the near-sheer material of her new nightdress, “give her that smile and she will yours forever. No one could resist such beauty.”

Again Morgana bit her lip, looking at her reflection shyly.

“And if you don’t mind, my Queen, I will leave you to await your Knight alone. You don’t want me being here when she arrives,” Gwen said, stepping out from behind Morgana. “I can go and see my brother and his family – spend the night with them. That way, we will both have had a much more enjoyable night than if we were to stay at that tiresome feast.”

On Morgana’s nod, she turned and walked for the door. Morgana reached out and caught her hand, pulling her back so that she could kiss her one cheek and tenderly press her palm to the other. “I could not have survived this war without you – not a moment of it.”

“Nor I without you, my lady,” Gwen murmured, the outdated formality now a nostalgic term of endearment. “Nor I without you.”

 

 

***

 

The night was black as ashes when the knock on her door finally came. Morgana stood startled at the fireplace, eyes wide in the darkness, fixed on the torch-lit door.

“Come in,” she bid, trembling.

The door opened tentatively, drawing out the suspense and giving her heartbeat the time to quicken and flutter. The dark wood of the door hid the opener from her, so that she could only see who stood behind it once it began to shut again, closing them inside.

Her first view of Morgause was of her back as she locked the door, giving them the illusion of privacy.

The first thing that Morgana noticed about her was her hair. When she had left, Morgause’s hair had hung down to her shoulder blades. Now it curled in ringlets to her lower back, shining a deeper, brighter gold than ever before. Or maybe that part was Morgana’s imagination. Nothing could look so fine. So rich. She longed to run her fingers through it. To see it mixed with her inky black locks on the pillow. To feel it tickle her nose in sleep.

“I’m afraid to look at you,” Morgause said, a nervous excitement building shaky foundations in the emptiness she had inside. Despite the hollowness which had haunted her since that bloody night, she had feared that if she were to look upon her Queen at the feast, that her heart would ignite again and so their love be given away. Now, finally in her presence, she was sure that would have come to be. “After so long, I am afraid that my heart might not be able take it.”

“Nor mine,” Morgana admitted, smiling faintly. “But I am _certain_ that it cannot take another moment without you.”

At that, Morgause turned towards the firelight, her dark eyes shining with tears as emotion flooded into her for the first time in weeks, filling her so suddenly that it hurt. She parted her lips in a silent gasp and felt as though she could weep with happiness at the sight of Morgana stood at the fireplace, one ivory hand resting on the smooth wood of its surround. She was turned side on to the flames, letting flickering red light and dark, hollow shadows pick out her noble jaw and fine cheekbones. In the firelight, her nightdress glittered gold and silver, revealing the full curves of her body, whilst shrouding her still in maddening mystery that could only be unravelled once she was bare. Her hair, which hung rope like over one slim shoulder, was braided with sweet smelling purple flowers of a kind that usually adorned the Wildes’ tables and windowsills on feasts. Through the low V of her neckline and the thin material of her gown, Morgause could see that her shoulders and chest were adorned in her gold lattice of a necklace, showing her devotion with jewels that matched the green stone that hung over Morgause’s heart.

“My Gods,” Morgause gasped, never having seen a more beautiful sight in all her days.

Morgana smiled shyly and bowed her head, looking at Morgause through her thick eyelashes. And what a sight she was. She glittered splendidly in her polished armour, looking every bit the fairy tale Knight. Her lips were flushed red from nervous biting and her cheeks were pink from wine and wanting. Two neatly healing gashes showed on her face – one on her forehead, half hidden by her long, flowing hair, and one on her left cheek, barely visible through her flush. Morgana wondered how many other new scars she would find on that night and the ones to come. She would seek out them all and kiss them, worshiping her brave Knight for every sacrifice she had made.

Slowly and then quicker, Morgause crossed to her and kissed her soundly – cupping her jaw and slipping her tongue into Morgana’s eagerly opening mouth, tasting honey on her lips. A quick fluttering open of her eyes revealed a honey pot above the fire. The taste had been deliberate. Morgana wanted a romantic remembrance of their first honey-sweetened kiss that beautiful morning by the fireside. As kisses went, though, this one was sweeter. Morgana had learnt to kiss back with as much force as was she was given and they had both learnt that even though Morgana could hold her own, they both much preferred it when Morgause took the lead.

Morgana’s arms went around her neck and her Queen whimpered needily, opening up for her Knight and melting into her arms. The initial heat of the kiss simmered and cooled as Morgana’s hands slipped down to rest on the mail above Morgause’s collarbone, kissing her slowly and sweetly, never wanting it to end.

“My Knight,” she murmured between kisses. “My champion.” Another kiss. “My heart.” Another, deeper. “My hero.”

Morgause felt a smile lift the corners of her mouth – a feeling which had of late seemed alien to her.

“My Queen and my heart,” she said in answer, kissing Morgana briefly. “And my little prince and princess,” she said, smiling brightly as she caressed Morgana’s full, round belly. “They have gotten so big.” She chuckled and kissed Morgana again. “You have gotten so big and impossibly more beautiful with it. I wish I could have been here to see you bloom these last few months. I have missed so much.”

Morgana covered Morgause’s hands on her belly with her own, letting her feel the babes kick and shift. It was a much more definite kick than it had been when Morgause left, and it made her eyes widen in wonder.

“You amaze me,” she murmured, awed, looking deep into Morgana’s ever changing eyes as she blushed and smiled bashfully.

“You are the remarkable one. Please, let me help you out of your plate and mail,” Morgana said quietly, her hands leaving Morgause’s to find the straps at her chest.

“You know that you do not need to do that,” Morgause protested, knowing that she would never be able to dissuade Morgana from the task. She seemed to enjoy performing that small wife’s task, as if it proved that she was Morgause’s and that Morgause was hers.

“I want to,” Morgana insisted. “I wanted to do it for you every night whilst you were away. I wanted to take your armour off after every battle and soothe your wounds and your wanting – not have some other woman there to do it whilst I was miles away.”

“There is no on but you,” Morgause promised. “I would not let anywhere near me but you, except when my wounds needed to be tended. And that was so painful that I needed to close my eyes and think of you to bear it.”

She would not tell Morgana of the girl who had tried to talk her way into her bed. She was of no consequence and Morgana would only think she was saying it to hurt her as Uther would when he was giddy on wine after a feast.

“Did you get many wounds?” Morgana asked fearfully, carefully lifting off her breastplate.

“Enough,” Morgause said, smiling. “But none of them are so serious that they will not heal under your good care. The Gods have been kind.”

Morgana smiled, relieved. “To both of us.”

As Morgana carefully removed her amour until she stood in only her shirt and breeches, Morgause asked after her and the babes, questioning her on things she had read – not that Morgana knew that, she was reading in secret so that she could be of use through to and beyond Morgana’s confinement – and answering questions about her own health and those of the Knights Morgana knew. When Morgause was free of her armour, Morgana wrapped her arms around her and pulled her as close as the babes would allow, having to turn sideways to manage it.

“I would beg you to take me to bed if I weren’t so gargantuan,” Morgana whispered, nuzzling into Morgause’s neck.

“I do not expect you to want to lie with me now that you are this far along,” Morgause assured her. She would never so much as kiss Morgana without her wanting it just as much. “I can survive. Even with you looking so fine, that…” Her eyes wandered down to Morgana’s full breasts, heat prickling up her spine and her pulse thundering in her ears. “…that I want you more than ever.”

Morgana bit her lip and blushed, hot shivers sweeping over her. “I did not say that I do not want you. I could never not want you, especially after so long apart. It is just that… well…” She looked down at her swollen stomach. “We may need to be a bit more inventive.”

Her blush depended when she whispered her suggestions into Morgause’s ear. Gwen had been sent to ask her sister-in-law for advice on the ruse that Morgana needed help in being able to keep her husband satisfied whilst not suffering the impossible logistics and radiating pain that lying on her back would bring. The suggestions were quite wonderful, and Morgana had bought Gwen a dozen new dresses to make up for the embarrassment she had suffered.

“Oh yes,” Morgause said, smiling as she nipped Morgana’s bottom lip, “I think I can manage that if you can. Especially the part about…”

Morgana nodded, smiling impishly. She had been kneeling for almost an hour every night to pray for Morgause and the safety of her people. She was sure that she could manage it for a more pleasurable kind of worship.

Morgause matched her rascally smile and let her hands wander to Morgana’s breasts, making her Queen gasp and arch into her touch, whimpering and closing her eyes. “I am truly lucky. You are so very, very good to me, my love.”

Morgana, already shivering with pleasure, was quite certain that she was the lucky one.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Morgause absent both emotionally and physically, Morgana risks revealing their relationship to one person and her magic to another.

 

Morgause woke before sunrise the next morning with none of the feeling that had so overwhelmed her the night before. Her heart seemed not to beat at all and she felt quite hollow. Desiccated. She could not bear to lie like that beside Morgana who was so contented, so warm and full. She had slept soundly, whilst Morgause’s nightmares had eaten her from the inside out.

At the window out of which she had so often watched the city stir, she could get no solace. She did not feel the cold of the stone on her bare thighs when she dropped onto it, seeming to go from standing to sitting without the bit in-between. Hours passed in what appeared to be minutes. They must have, for it was fully light when Morgana called to her from the bed.

“You ought to have woken me with you,” Morgana susurrated, her voice heavy with sleep. She looked like the nameless earth goddess on that bed – naked and rounded and soft. Where this sight would have stirred her deeply once, still Morgause felt nothing.

“You need your sleep,” Morgause reasoned, hoping to sound compassionate. She certainly wanted to _feel_ compassionate. She loved this woman in front of her more than she had ever thought it possible to love a person, yet she could feel none of it. None.

Morgana smiled indulgently, unaware of her love’s troubles. “Everyone is telling me what I need and no one is listening to what I want.”

“And what do you want?”

Dipping her head, Morgana blushed and smiled, as if what she wanted was the most obvious thing in the world. Her smile brightened when she looked back up to Morgause – seeing her Knight haloed in the window, long golden hair falling over her breasts to her newly muscled stomach.

“You, of course. I want you,” Morgana said, half laughing and half dreamily whispering. She felt like she was in her own fantasy.

Morgause was acutely aware that if ever there had been a time since she awoke to feel something, then that would have been the moment. Nothing.

Hoping to hide her indifference from Morgana, she smiled – in a way she knew from the past was at least somewhat convincing – and subtly changed the subject. “But you see, I have a pressing engagement to fulfil – or rather procure – this morn. I cannot lounge about in bed.”

Looking confused, Morgana asked, “If you already have the engagement, then surely you would not need to procure it.”

Her eyes sparkled, pleased at her cleverness at seeing the nonsense in Morgause’s words.

At that, Morgause laughed – though she felt no mirth – and rose from her icy window seat. “Then what I should have said, is that I have a pressing need and am in want of someone to fulfil it.”

Morgana smiled, catlike. “Whatever need you have, I can fulfil it.”

“I need a haircut.”

This was greeted with silence. Silence and disappointment.

“But it is so pretty!” Morgana gushed in astonished outrage. If she could have leapt to her feet and run her fingers through it – in what was looking like one of her last opportunities to do so – she would have. Unfortunately, the twins did not really allow for leaping. She was wont to topple over.

Morgause felt a flicker of… something… but it was gone as soon as it appeared. She could well have imagined it.

“Why would you grow it just to cut it!” Morgana continued. The fact that Morgause had grown her hair almost down to her waist whilst away and was now proposing cutting it off had her rather outraged. She had not had the opportunity to enjoy it. As much as feeling Morgause’s enlarged muscles had made her stomach flutter when she ghosted her fingers over them, she had also swooned to see such long, beautiful hair. She had dreamt of watching her fight in the tourney arena with her hair flowing and enchanting as she metaphorically slew her opponent.

“When at war, my father would refuse to cut his hair as a symbol of his grief at being parted from my mother. Only when he returned to her would he allow it to be cut,” Morgause explained, sensing that she was doing the tale an injustice for lack of embellishment. Despite her inadequate retelling, Morgana’s eyes dampened and shone.

“You… You did this out of… Out of something for me?”

Again, Morgause felt a flicker. “Devotion. Love. For those reasons, I did this for you. I missed you every moment of every day we were parted, and yet I could not have borne for you to be in a place so wretched at a time so wretched.”

She realised this was the first time she had hinted to the negatives of the war. Not that she thought Morgana dim enough to not know of their existence. More that she did not wish to highlight them, lest her peculiarly empty state of being be revealed. This was her problem. She would not burden anyone else with it, especially not Morgana.

Silence stretched as Morgana’s mouth formed an elongated ‘O’ of surprise or something like it.

“Who cut your father’s hair?” she asked in what sounded like a hopeful tone.

“My mother,” Morgause answered before she realised where this was going.

“Then I will call for scissors and you can instruct me on your preferred length,” Morgana said, simultaneously decisive and wary of being rejected. If Morgause had one fault in their relationship, it was that she – like everyone else at court – sometimes seemed to regard Morgana as less capable than she was.

“Morgana, you really do not have to-”

“Your father’s wife did it for him, please do not deny me the honour of doing this small duty for you.” Morgana’s plea was so impassioned that it gave Morgause hope. If anything could fill her emptiness, it would be Morgana’s insatiable love and her desire to be everything for her.

“Of course it must be you,” Morgause conceded, sitting beside Morgana on the bed and taking her hands. She kissed them both, wishing she could muster the feeling to kiss her lips. They had always seemed softest and plumpest in the morning, she recalled. “Forgive me?”

Morgana’s smile said that she would always forgive her, no matter what her crime.

 

 

*~*

 

 

The scissors promptly arrived, clutched in Gwen’s worn hands. She smiled reassuringly at Morgause and assured her of Morgana’s at least basic competence at cutting hair – her having cut Gwen’s after her father had died, when there was no one left at home to do it for her. The arrangement had not lasted long, but long enough for Morgana to become quite competent. Morgause thought about that as she sat on a dining chair that was positioned centrally in the largest room of Morgana’s chambers, in the middle of a shaft of sunlight that caught the dust in the air and made it glitter. She wondered if Gwen had sat just here and wondered what she and Morgana had talked of. Had Gwen instructed her? That seemed unlikely. Had they discussed other things? Frivolous things? Serious things?

Morgause could not think of one sincere thing to say.

“I shall plait it first, I think,” Morgana said decidedly, as though she did this for a profession or at least as a hobby. Not that Morgause could imagine anyone doing that. There was no need for it, surely? But then again, there was no need in alehouses, and those were quite a money earner in the right pair of hands. Or at least she must suppose, from their being always so busy.

“Whatever you think well,” Morgause agreed, knowing as soon as she said it that she sounded dense and not one bit like herself.

Morgana’s fingers slipped into her hair, first just combing it, feeling it, then dividing it into two at her parting.

“Such beautiful hair you have,” Morgana complimented, her voice suggesting that she was smiling. “I could run my fingers though this golden silk all day and never get tired of it slipping cool and soft between my fingers.”

“It is more nuisance to me than anything else. I would cut it all off if it did not make me look like a boy.”

Morgana laughed, her voice bright and rolling like hills in sunlight. “Nothing could make you look like a boy. Not even if I cut all your hair off and bound your breasts. No boy has eyes like yours or skin so soft. No boy has lips so flushed and tender or beauty so radiant. Even in full armour, you shine brightly as the finest and most lovely woman in the room. On the tourney field you dance around you opponents. No one could look at you and think you a boy.”

Morgause’s lips smiled of their own accord. Evidently they had felt some emotion that her heart had not. “You know, I worried at first that you loved me only because you saw me as a charming Knight.”

“Nonsense. I could not have loved you if you were any other Knight,” Morgana assured her, sounding hurt at Morgause’s admission. “Not the way that I love you.”

Morgause bit her tongue, admonishing herself but unable to apologise. She would not have been able to mean it, not properly, and Morgana would surely hear something missing in her voice. It was only a while later, when her intricate plait was compete, that she realised that she should have told Morgana that she loved her too.

“You could wear it like this,” Morgana suggested after a long silence. “I need not cut it at all. I could braid it for you instead – have a chain of vine leaves made to weave into it, show every enemy you face that you have my favour and so cannot lose.”

“A lovely thought,” Morgause conceded. “Nevertheless, you must cut it. For tradition’s sake at least.”

“Fine then,” Morgana said huffily, clearly unhappy with the woman perched on the chair in front of her. She had been standing far too long and her back radiated pain. A little gratefulness would not go amiss. To spite her lover, she snipped off the loose hair at the end of the braid and would cut no more.

 

 

 

*~*

 

 

Despite her failing empathy, Morgause could not help but notice that Morgana was peeved and best left alone. Morgause sent for a guard and told Morgana that she was going to visit her family, and that she was not invited. Truth be told, she was disappointed in Morgana. She had expected more understanding from her. A woman who had lost her father to war should know enough of its terrors to allow Morgause some fault of character upon her return. Evidently, carrying Uther’s babes had robbed her of her sweet sensibilities. It was easier to at least pretend to blame him.

The walk to her uncle’s house did nothing to relieve her disdain for Morgana’s mood. It did, however, allow her the time to put it to the back of her head and focus on appearing normal for the children’s’ sake. She was on her way to see her Eleanor, her Ellie, whose eyes she had not looked into for a very long time. Surely she could stir in her what had been missing.

“Aunt Morgause!” the child cried as soon as she knocked on the door. Looking up, Morgause saw her hanging out of the first floor window. “Catch me!”

Morgause’s eyes widened, but she had no time to let worry enter her mind as Eleanor leapt from the window and came tumbling down into her arms.

“You’re back!” Ellie shrieked excitedly, peppering Morgause’s face with damp kisses, giggling all the while.

“Eleanor!” came Flor’s stern voice from the newly opened door. Morgause could not see her for kisses. “Was lying unconscious in bed for weeks not enough a drain on my nerves that now you have to launch yourself out of windows to fray them further?”

Ellie bit her lip and grinned before turning around in Morgause’s arms to face her mother’s wrath. She was no stranger to tellings off. She was the wild Wilde. Flor said it was Morgause’s fault, though Morgause quietly believed Rivalen to be more to blame than her. He was the one who had invented tree hopping as a sport. She had merely partaken. Granted, she had been the first to put a bow in the girl’s hands, but she could never have foreseen the squirrel incident.

Both blondes gave Flor puppydog eyes and matching pouts.

“You’re nothing but trouble, _Euraid-Geneth_ ,” Flor admonished fondly, using her old nickname for her friend. Morgause had been the golden girl of their magic community in Camelot before The Great Purge, with her easy flare for magic and the natural strength of it running through her. “And that look stopped working on me years ago.”

Morgause stepped over the threshold, into the only place she could be completely herself. Ellie wriggled from her grasp just in time to avoid the crushing hug that her mother wrapped her aunt in.

“Do not dare leave us again. I could not bear the worry,” Flor whispered in her ear, squeezing her tighter. She turned her head to kiss Morgause’s cheek tenderly. “Now go and sit at the table whilst I fetch some winter fruit pie.”

“Yes, mother.”

“Shut up,” Flor said, slapping her arm and kissing her cheek again.

 

 

*~*

 

 

“Amina is here to see you, “Emilie announced primly, walking in on Morgana and Gwen taking lunch. “She is setting up in your bedroom.”

Morgana looked apologetically at her friend for having to cut short their meal.

“I was going to go down into the market, anyway,” Gwen assured her. “I have something on order with the weaver.”

“Only if you’re sure,” Morgana said, though they both knew that Amina could not be dissuaded when she decided that Morgana needed an examination.

“Morgana!” Amina called from the other room, completely unfazed by Morgana’s station.

Gwen smiled almost mischievously. “Good luck.”

Morgana sighed and hid her face in her hands. It had been a decidedly less than perfect day, and she had the feeling that it was about to get worse.

Amina called for her again.

 

 

*~*

 

 

“I like your hair,” Ellie declared, playing with the braid she had pulled over Morgause’s shoulder. “It’s very pretty. Did the Queen do it? Mother said that you live with the Queen now to protect her. When is she having the babe? Will we get to see it? Is your hair longer?”

Morgause waited for a moment to collect the answers in the right order. “Yes, soon, maybe and yes.”

Ellie looked up with a frown. “Why ‘maybe’?”

“Eleanor!” Flor admonished.

“Because,” Morgause began, poking Ellie’s stomach gently to make her giggle, “they cannot leave the castle until they’re bigger. But maybe we can sneak you in to see them.”

“Them?!”

“Ah, yes. We think there might be two of them. A boy and a girl.” Morgause smiled. She could almost feel something again. Ellie was certainly a suitable distraction – wide-eyed and giggly on her knee. “And before you ask: No, you cannot name them.”

“Why did you not ride Dream here?” Ellie asked, making the mental leap. “I have not seen her in so long and we do not have a horse to ride. I am definitely big enough.”

And then it hit her: grief, raw and un-tempered. The emptiness inside her was suddenly filled with a hot, salty ocean that threatened to come spilling out of her. She didn’t know what to say. What could she say? She had not let herself think on Dream, lest she remember the moment she had been taken from her. It had been brutal. The man responsible had lost his sword hand for it and then his life.

“Ellie, there is something I need to tell you.”

All of a sudden, the little girl’s face became very serious. Children were more perceptive than adults gave them credit for.

“That is what Father says when something bad has happened and I just do not know about it yet.”

Morgause nodded and brushed Ellie’s golden hair out of her face. A tear fell from her cheek to Ellie’s. Then another. And another. “Dream… Dream could not…” She did not manage to get the words out before the trickle of tears turned into a flood.

“She died,” Ellie whispered, heartbroken, her head bowing.

“I am so, so sorry,” Morgause croaked, disgusted in herself for so failing this perfect little girl whom she loved so much.

Ellie’s arms went around her neck and she hugged her almost as tight as her mother had. “It’s okay. I can help you find a new horse. And if father says I can borrow his pigments, I can make you a picture of her.”

When Morgause only cried harder, Ellie bit her lip and snuggled into Morgause’s neck, squeezing her harder.

 

 

*~*

 

 

“You are growing fast,” Amina commented, removing the measurement ribbon from Morgana’s stomach and noting the diameter in her book. She straightened and began pressing her hands against the Queen’s swollen middle, finding both babes. “At this rate, you might have them in your arms quicker than we thought.”

Morgana, about to voice her approval at that, shut her mouth and blushed when Amina’s hands came up to her breasts.

“What are you-”

“I have to check that you are developing right and that there aren’t any lumps that could become abscesses. Sometimes there are blockages. Has there been any tenderness?” Amina asked, her tone all business. It made Morgana uneasy. She had had only one maid her entire life and – but for the time after Morgana’s coronation – Gwen had never been formal with her when they were alone. Formality reminded her of Uther.

“A little,” she answered, blushing deeper when she recalled Morgause’s hands, lips and tongue on her the night before. She had never felt the like of it before. “They are more sensitive. Sometimes that hurts.”

“Is there anywhere in particular that hurts?”

Morgana shook her head, trying to shake off the memory of her Knight worshiping her breasts, murmuring appreciation for their new form. It was proving to be a hard recollection to forget, and Morgana was glad for the cold already having hardened her nipples. She did not think she could have stood the embarrassment. Amina was sure to take it the wrong way.

“Good. What about milk? Any sign of that making an early appearance?”

Morgana’s eyes widened when she contemplated with horror what might have happened if any of… _that_ had appeared when Morgause took her to bed the night before.

“No! Will it?” she asked, her mouth hanging open in shock whilst she waited for her answer.

“It may. Many of the women I have cared for have experienced it, though I myself did not with my daughter. It is nothing to worry about if you do see some. There will not be much.” Amina lifted her eyes from Morgana’s breasts and smiled at her horror-struck expression. “Still, it might be best to wear a thicker underdress in case you are in public and it happens.”

Unable to speak, Morgana nodded dumbly.

“Now,” Amina continued, taking a step back and fixing Morgana with a quite terrifying gaze – like that of a governess, “I dare say, from you not being in tears in bed, that your Knight has come home safely.”

Fear flashed in her belly. She nodded.

Amina’s eyes left hers for a moment, going to the bedside table and back to her. Morgana turned to see that the woman’s gaze had gone to the gold lock of hair she had tied with a ribbon and planned to make a keepsake of. Her skin flamed a brilliant fiery cold and her knees went weak.

“Is she gentler than your husband, or do I have to have words with her too?” Amina asked, voice carefully neutral.

“I…” Morgana’s mouth was dry and she could not breathe, never mind turn back around again. She felt her magic – or was that the babes’ magic? When had she started thinking of it as her own? – bubbling up in her chest and tingling at her fingertips.

“I saw only one Knight with hair like that as the feast last night. There is no point in denying it,” Amina continued, taking a step towards her.

The movement made Morgana jump and whirl around, her fear rising to terror. The world blurred and heat roared at her side, glittering.

Amina screamed as fire crackled into existence in mid-air, suspended by wild magic and fear alone. It bloomed and flickered, and Morgana, terrified, backed away.

“It’s alright!” Amina tried to shout over the noise of the blaze. “Do not be afraid. I can tame it. Just step back and try to keep your magic under control.”

At that moment, Gwen came hurrying in – not having left yet at all. Her eyes went from the fire to Morgana, seeing her absolute, abject fear. Ignoring the blaze, she ran to her side, taking her in her arms and shielding the commotion from her view.

Morgana, her whole world falling apart, was overcome and fainted. Only by some miracle did Gwen hold her weight.

 

 

~*~

 

 

Morgause’s tears were finally drying when Rivalen and Tristan returned from their fishing trip. The young boy ran to meet his aunt, proudly presenting her with the fish he had caught in her honour. He seemed to have so grown up in her absence that Morgause almost wanted to cry again, but then he clambered up onto her knee, one arm going around her neck as he laid his head on her chest, quite content. Perhaps things had not changed so much after all. She lifted her eyes from the little boy in her arms to his father, who watched them from the shadows of the kitchen with a small smile, nodding his welcome.

After the dinner had been eaten and the children put to bed, Flor excused herself to the kitchen and left Morgause and Rivalen alone beside the fire. She had never been one for subtlety and they both knew that they would be in trouble if they had not talked by the time she returned.

“The war has taken its toll on you,” Rivalen said quietly after a long, almost awkward stretch of silence. “I have known you since the hour of your birth and never once have I seen your eyes so lifeless. Not even after your father died.”

Morgause hung her head, ashamed.

“Tell me what happened. You know that I will take every one of your secrets to my grave. I will not even tell Flor, I promise you.” He reached out to take her hand, squeezing it gently. “I know that I could never replace your father, but it is my duty to you to try. I love you as much as I love Eleanor and Tristan, and seeing you so in turmoil pains me as greatly as any illness or injury they have taken – and Eleanor has had more than her fair share of those.”

When the firelight flickered to illuminate Morgause’s face, it showed tracks of tears running down her cheeks. Slowly and warily, she told him everything. She told him of the battles and how she had been called ‘hero’. She told him of the boys not so very older than Tristan who had fallen by her side and how she could do nothing to protect them, and how that did not stop their faces haunting her dreams. She told him how that had been bearable until Edwin, and how that had made her feel even worse. She told him about Edwin’s threat and how he had come so close to carrying it through. She told him how worthless it had made her feel and how she could never think of herself as a Knight again – not after how starkly her weaknesses had been exposed.

Then she told him of Edwin’s death at her hands and how void it had left her.

“Who else have you told of this?” Rivalen asked when she was done, his face contorted with worry. She had pulled her hand from his grip and he ached to reach out and take it again. Or else take her in his arms. But she was too old for that now and he feared that she would see it as condescending.

“My brothers know a little but none knows everything,” Morgause admitted, staring unseeing into the fire. “Not even my commander.”

Rivalen sighed, gearing up enough courage to ask his next question. “What about the Queen? If you can find peace in anyone, it will be her.”

“How long have you known?” Morgause asked, unsurprised. Rivalen and Flor knew of her inclinations and even the children at least partially understood. As she had told Morgana, it had not been uncommon amongst the followers of the Old Religion and though she had to hide it from Camelot’s society, the rules changed once she stepped over her uncle’s threshold. She had always been free in his house. That he had guessed of her attachment to Morgana was, therefore, always inevitable.

“Since first I saw you two together. Flor and I knew instantly. She has visited us countless times since you left, and even though she does not speak of your connection, she has shown her grief at your parting and her fondness for you. It would be impossible for her to hide that, I think.” He took a deep breath and looked down at his hands in his lap. “I cannot pretend that I think her the safest choice for you, nor that I would not rather you settled with someone else. Someone safer. But you cannot help who you fall in love with – Gods know that I could not help but love Flor, despite the difference in our years – and our Ellie would be gone from us, I fear, without her help.”

Morgause smiled faintly, remembering both Rivalen’s romance of Flor and Morgana’s charity. “You should have seen how impassioned she was in demanding the physician’s presence. She sent the letter that very night and could not sleep for worry.”

“She has a bold and kind heart,” Rivalen agreed. “Camelot has never loved a Queen so ardently. Nor has any other Queen deserved such love.”

Morgause’s smile grew a little. “And I would wager that no Queen has ever loved her people more.”

“That is the first time I have seen you smile – when you are talking about her. Not even Ellie’s antics could raise one during dinner.”

The smile flickered and went out. “She deserves better than me.”

Rivalen frowned. “How can you say that? Would you not die for her?”

“Instantly,” Morgause enthused. “And without a thought.”

“Would you willingly be parted from her?” Rivalen continued, a smile playing on his lips.

“Never,” Morgause whispered, her eyes full of pain at the thought.

“What would you do for her?”

“Anything. Everything,” Morgause murmured, her eyes still on the fire, willing some of its heat into her heart.

“Would you ever hurt her?” Rivalen asked finally, though he was already satisfied that she deserved all of Morgana’s love. No one could love so fiercely as a Wilde. History had proved that.

“No!” Morgause exclaimed, turning fiery eyes on her uncle. “Never! I would rather die than lay a finger on her, rather take my own life than cause her sadness or pain!”

“Then you are more than deserving,” Rivalen avowed. She sighed and again looked away. “Morgause, if I might be so bold, allow me to point out your great weakness.”

“Why not. I will not feel it.”

Rivalen clenched his jaw and continued. “You forget that you have royal blood in your veins and the Gods’ gift of magic in you. You are a daughter of the Old Religion and boast the strongest magic in a generation. You were born to be a High Priestess and yet all you see yourself as is a peasant unworthy of a Queen’s love.”

“I cannot practice, Rivalen, you know that,” Morgause murmured wearily. “If any of us were to then…”

“I am not telling you to practice. Gods forgive me, I beg you not to. If the King knew you had the means to wield magic, then we would all of us lose our lives. What I ask is for you to let who you truly are into your heart. Our family may be a shadow of what it once was, but it will not forever be that way. You are a fine match for a Queen, especially a Le Fay. They broke their ties with the Old Religion and suffered for it with the loss of their magic – you know the tale. That the Queen has opened herself to you will please the Gods. Perhaps even enough to forget their forsaking of this land and our two families.”

Something tingled beneath Morgause’s skin, kindling her magic. She brushed her hands over her arms and shivered. “She does not seem to know of her family’s history. The Le Fay’s have been Christian for too long. Of the faith of her mother’s family, she seems to know naught. I feel like a traitor in her bed for keeping it from her, but it is not my place to tell her.”

“It is not your place to withhold it from her either,” Flor said from the doorway. Morgause turned to see her illuminated in the firelight, her expression firm. “Surely she must get enough of that from the men of court.”

Shame prickled hot over Morgause’s body, making her squirm. “She does.”

“Then tell her,” Rivalen entreated. “Tell her of your pain and her inheritance.”

She couldn’t. Not until she had the babes safe in her arms. A few more weeks of ignorance were worth keeping Morgana from worry whilst she was so taxed, so vulnerable. At least she hoped that Morgana would see it that way.

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

Three weeks passed with the only real connection between Queen and Knight coming when they were stripped of their clothes and passion overcame them. In that, they were closer than ever. Morgana seemed to sense Morgause’s distance and gave herself over more completely to her, whispering adorations with every kiss, every touch. Even when it became increasingly uncomfortable, she would not deter her Morgause, whose wanting seemed greater than ever, needing to be satisfied every night. It was all worth it for those few moments of closeness afterwards. Morgause would smile, tell her she loved her and kiss her like everything was perfect. It wasn’t.

“I do not know what to do,” Morgana confessed to her lady-in-waiting. Gwen was accompanying her for lunch whilst Morgause was summoned to her commander. It was the first time they had been alone since the fire. “It is like she is not there. Like she stayed behind on the battlefield and all that has returned to me is the vacant shell. I feel like a failure for not being able to make her feel better. But then I feel just like Uther, for making every issue about myself.”

“You should talk to her about it,” Gwen encouraged. “Make her connect with you. You are the one she loves. She chooses to be with you. If anyone can help her, it is you.”

Morgana did not know what she would do if she could not. The magic in her babes grew with them. By the time, in four or five years, they had matured enough for it to make itself known, they would need Morgause to guide them.

“May I… May I ask you something?” Gwen asked tentatively, as if knowing where Morgana’s thoughts lingered.

“Anything, you know that.”

“The fire. It was magic, was it not?” Gwen inquired, holding Morgana’s gaze to show her that she was not afraid.

Morgana nodded. “Morgause’s. The babes’. Mine. I am not sure anymore.” At Gwen’s confusion, she continued. “There is an island off Mermering. My family owns it. Legend says that it is a place of great magic. Morgause and I were joined there and the magic in her – old, strong magic – was poured into me and took seed in my babes, connecting her to them in a way that neither of us could ever have imagined. I feel her ties to them like a physical chord that pulls when she leaves us. Sometimes, I think it is the only thing holding us together anymore.”

“I cannot believe that.”

“I worry that, without her to guide me, the magic will make itself known through me again. I worry that this time, Uther will see. I worry that you have not touched me since that day. Not unless you have had too,” Morgana mumbled, her head bowed. She swallowed. “You do not owe me anything, Guinevere. You are not indebted to me. I hope you feel free to leave and never see me again if that is what you desire.”

The silence broke her heart.

“How – How could you ever think that I would leave you, my Lady?”

Morgana’s head snapped up. Gwen’s eyes were blurry and wide. She looked as though she had just taken a blow to the chest. The old formality registered with neither of them.

“Morgana, I love you.  I _love_ you. I do not care if you have magic. That you have it has only proved to me that it must be a most divine and good thing. Anything that comes from you could be nothing but good.” As if realising what she had just said, Gwen blushed and averted her eyes.

Morgana could say nothing for a long moment.

“How exactly did you mean that you love me?” she asked hesitantly.

“I mean that I love you,” Gwen said simply. “I feel for you more than I have ever felt for anyone. I want to be with you every moment of the day. I want to be close to you. I want to kiss your cheek, embrace you and hold your hand. But I do not _want_ you like Morgause wants you. I do not know why, I just do not. It is different, I think, from the way she loves you. I am not really sure what it is.”

“And I am not sure that I understand,” Morgana interjected when Gwen paused, trying hard to comprehend what Gwen was trying to tell her.

Gwen confessed that she did not want the sort of relationship that Morgana had with Morgause, but that she envied their closeness and affection. “I just love you.”

Morgana’s forehead was wrinkled and her eyes pinched. “I cannot break my attachment with Morgause, no matter how hard it is being tested or how dearly I love you. Some things are meant to be and I have known that I am meant to be with Morgause from the moment she kissed me.”

Gwen shook her head. “I could never ask you to do that. Not when she makes you so happy and gives you things that do not think I can. Your relationship does not inspire jealousy in me. It just pleases me that she makes you happy. Though, it also saddens me that I have less importance in your life now.”

“It is funny,” Morgana said, her voice almost distant. “Morgause once said almost the exact same thing to me about not being able to give me what Uther can. The truth us, she has given me more than he ever could. And you have already given me more than I could ever have asked for. You and I are family.” She took Gwen’s hand and rested it on her swollen stomach, watching Gwen smile as she felt the babes shift. “You are their family. I could be no other way. I will not let you be pushed out.”

Gwen looked at Morgana as though she could not understand her acceptance and kindness.

“I may not completely understand what you feel. From what you have said, I am not sure that you fully understand it either, but I hope you will feel able to tell me when you do understand it. I will keep any secret that you give me without judgement, as you have for me. I will always be here for you,” Morgana promised, thinking on Morgause too and how desperately they needed to be honest with each other.

“And I for you,” Gwen vowed, blushing as Morgana’s lips brushed over her knuckles.

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

Ever since returning from the war, Sir Leon had been requiring Morgause to train with her brothers for at least one hour out of every day. At first, Morgause had resisted. She had not acknowledged that anything could be more important than being by Morgana’s side. A few months previous, Leon would have agreed. Now they needed to recognise that larger problems faced their good Kingdom and that, for better or worse, Morgause seemed destined to have a hand in shaping all of their futures.

The war had been won and the enemy sent home defeated. That did not mean, however, that Camelot was victorious. Not yet. She had seen two years of the worst harvests in living memory. Disease and drought had stunted her crops and the inability to make and remain friends with her neighbours had hampered trade and the prospect of aid. Little could be done to change the weather or the blight of disease other than prayer, and God seemed to be turning a deaf ear on Camelot of late. Insuring the good will of the surrounding kingdoms was, therefore, the only hope for improving the lives of Camelot’s citizens in the immediate future. The inter-kingdom tournament – the event which had been planned specifically to cultivate this good will – would take place in two weeks’ time and Sir Leon was begrudged to admit that he was unfit to fight in it.

“Morgause,” he greeted with a smile when she was shown into his office early that afternoon. She looked marginally more lively than she had on their last private meeting the day after their return. Her hair remained long despite her frequent complaints of its impracticalities over dinner with the other Knights of the First Companies in their communal tent, usually followed by a joke from Gwaine about Leon’s own newly cropped hair.

“Commander,” Morgause nodded, standing to attention in the middle of the small stone room.

“Please, sit,” Leon invited. “It is not like I can stand.”

Morgause frowned. “I take it this is about the tournament then,” she guessed, noting his tone. The Knights had been whispering about it for weeks. It was clear that Leon could not fight and that he would need a replacement. Bets had been taken on whether the King would truly follow through with the rules of their order and allow a woman to take the commander’s place.

Leon nodded and gestured to the empty chair before his desk. She sat. If he was about to gently relieve her of her responsibilities as Camelot’s standby champion, then she may as well be comfortable. He was likely to spend a good deal of time apologising.

“Most of the duty of the champion is ceremonial. I will still be able to greet and entertain the champions of the surrounding kingdoms. I will still sit at the head table and join the discussions of the kings. You will need only to fight in my place.” He smiled, knowing she had not been expecting it. None of them had been expecting it. Leon had a sneaking suspicion that Uther had only agreed to it to avoid the inevitable argument with his Queen. “Though, I would not object to you joining me in entertaining the royalty who really matter - the ones with all the power. You will be perfectly positioned to gain favour with them, and that could make all the difference.”

Morgause wished that she could smile at that. She would have, once. Sir Leon truly was a commander like none who had gone before him. “I will be by Morgana’s side to entertain the queens,” she confirmed. “The Queen has already begun planning their programme for the week. There is to be walks in the garden, musical performances by our harpist and his talented young daughter, and many a fine meal.”

“Our greatest chances of securing allies, I think, may rest on her charms. If so, I am confident that we will succeed,” Leon said with a smile that dropped when Morgause did not share it. He sighed, his heart lead-heavy in his chest. “Morgause, we need to talk about what happened with King Edwin and how it has affected you.”

“I would rather not, Commander,” Morgause said pleadingly. He had never heard her plead before. Not even when the older squires had locked her in the armoury on the night she turned sixteen. If she had pleaded, which he doubted, it would not have been heard over the sound of her breaking through the thick oak doors with an antique axe.

“And I would rather we did,” he countered, making clear that the conversation was non-negotiable. “You have not been the same since that night and I am beginning to worry that it might impede your ability to carry out your job.”

She turned away, hurt.

“I can see by your reaction that you have thought on it yourself, which means that you and I need to talk. Daily if need be. I will not lose another of my best Knights to that man. I cannot afford it, the Queen cannot afford it and Camelot cannot afford it. So please, Morgause, talk to me – for Queen and Camelot.”

For Queen and Camelot, Morgause agreed.

 

 

~*~

 

 

Every day, at the fall of dusk, Commander and Champion met on the battlements of Camelot’s tallest tower. Morgause told him everything except for her relationship with Morgana. He listened intently and gave his opinion or advice when he could. Mostly, though, the listening helped the most. Morgause told him how she had felt that day and counted up all the small sparks of emotion that seemed greater in number every day. She told him of her frustration with herself and how worried she was over the coming tournament and the impending arrival of the prince and princess.

“You never know, they might surprise us and both be boys. I certainly wouldn’t say no to a couple more fine Knights in a decade and a half, when my knees are stiff and my movements slow,” Leon said with a smile. They were both stood with their arms resting on the stone wall, leaning to look down at the new squires training in the field below. “We will definitely need them if these new recruits are anything to go by.”

Morgause laughed. Her heart felt lighter than it had in a long time. “Morgana is sure there is a girl in there. Though that might just be wishful thinking.”

“Best not to say that to her,” Leon warned with a glint in his eye. “I would not like to argue with her at the best of times, never mind over her babes. A Queen is always right. It is sometimes just the Kings who forget that.”

Morgause nodded, agreeing. “I think that the King wants two boys. He keeps referring to them as such, no matter how hard Morgana tries to deter him.”

“Two boys would ease his worries more than one,” Leon reasoned. “He does not want to leave his kingdom behind without an heir. He saw what that did to Cenred’s kingdom. He does not want that for his people.”

“No.” Despite all of Uther’s faults – and Morgause could name hundreds of them – he did love his people, even if he did not always appear to. “And there is pride at stake too. King Raigal has seven sons and three daughters, and is yet younger than our King. Even the young King Thomas has his two sons.”

Neither of them mentioned the fact that Uther already had plenty of children. Twelve by Morgause’s count. If they were not legitimate, they might as well not exist. That was the problem with all this ‘one God’ mess – far too many rules. Not that the Old Religion was completely free of such constraints. Marriage was still preferred, though children need not be born from one.

“Will you be there, do you think, when the babes are born?” Leon asked, wincing as a lad of fourteen was knocked off his feet and into a trough of water.

Morgause smiled brightly, if shyly. “If the Queen wants me there. I suppose the men have told you of the reading material I took with me to war?”

Leon laughed and nodded. “Percival might have mentioned it. I think you have given him ideas. He does not wed Molly until next month, but I would not be surprised if he has not already been eyeing up cradles. Molly will likely be as big as the Queen before next year is out and this one is already all but over.”

It was three days until Christmas and the whole castle was green with holly and ivy. New candles were being made by the hundred and all the city’s craftsmen were busy in their workshops night and day. Conversely to how the season was celebrated in other kingdoms, in Camelot, Christmas was a private family affair. There would be no big feast. Every servant was expected to be home with their family save for four cooks, two serving girls, the King’s servant and the Queen’s maid. Each of them had the privilege of eating the same meal as the royal couple, if not at the same table. Morgause was not exactly sure where she would fit in yet. Only time would tell. All Morgause need worry about for the moment was if Morgana would like her present and if she would forgive her for being so distant.

Leon watched as Morgause smiled to herself, seemingly caught up in her own pleasant thoughts. It warmed his heart to see her finally seeming a little more like herself and gave him hope that she had it in her to do Camelot proud at the tournament.

 

 

~*~

 

 

Clutching the parcel in her arms, Morgause knocked on Morgana’s door, butterflies stirring in her stomach. They had agreed to exchange gifts on the eve of the third day before Christmas, as was the custom in Morgause’s family, who celebrated the winter solstice festival of Albannui on the same day as the rest of Camelot celebrated the birth of their God. Or God’s son. Morgause could never really work out how that worked, but her own religion included a God who was feminine in the summer and male in the winter, so she could not really hold it against the Christians to have one or two confusing beliefs. Kai and Kaia seemed perfectly rational to her, them being a brother and sister who shared one body and between them kept the lands fertile. She had been praying to them rather a lot of late, but they were well known for being easily distracted and with so few faithful to perform the fertility rituals in their honour, she could not blame them.

Emilie opened the door and, curtseying to Morgause, let her in before leaving for the night. Gwen was helping her brother at the smithy – Uther would be furious if he found out, and would demote her to maid immediately – so they would be all alone all evening and all night. Uther did not visit anymore. Morgause was beginning to wonder if it was young Emilie keeping his bed warm at night. It would not surprise her.

“You are early!” Morgana exclaimed, getting unsteadily to her feet – one hand at her back, the other on her belly. Morgause smiled brightly and, seeing it, Morgana grinned too. “And in good cheer!”

“That I am,” Morgause confirmed, pushing the door closed behind her and whispering a prayer to lock it. She had been practicing discretely at such small things. The babes seemed to like it. Or so Morgana proclaimed.

“Then come here and kiss me, my love,” Morgana bid, her cheeks flushed and her lips red as if she had been biting them all afternoon. Morgause had been away since lunch, training, picking up her present from the trailers and meeting with Sir Leon. Morgana had had nothing to do but embroider whilst she waited. She was making the babes a shawl each – her first ever attempt at such a thing.

Morgause obliged Morgana’s request, putting the parcel on the table and going to her. With a smile, she leant it to kiss her – teasing lightly at first and then opening her mouth to deepen it. Morgana whimpered approvingly and wrapped her arms around Morgause’s neck. She could not wait for the babes to be out so that she could hold her closer.

“So, what do you have for me?” Morgana asked mischievously, eyeing up the large, soft parcel over Morgause’s shoulder. “It is a dress?”

Morgause sighed and shook her head. “How did you guess?”

Morgana squealed and reached out for the parcel. “Is it for now or afterwards? Can I wear it on Albannui? I hope it fits!”

Morgause laughed, handing her the parcel.

“It’s heavy!” she exclaimed, deciding it was best to sit down to open it. “Have you raided the royal treasury to adorn it?”

Morgause chucked and sat down opposite her, resting her hands on Morgana’s knees. She had not felt so joyous in Gods know how long, and had not felt so at home with Morgana for just as long. Silently, she thanked the Gods for giving Morgana the patience to put up with her.

“Just open it,” she commanded softly, laughing when Morgana raised an eyebrow at her. They both knew that it was Morgana who gave the orders.

Morgana gasped when the soft leather wrapping fell back to show a silk of pure white. “It is beautiful!”

“It is customary for women to wear white on Albannui,” Morgause explained, knowing how eager Morgana was to learn of the Old Religion and its customs. “You probably do not want to know why. I thought you might like to feel a part of it. I shall be wearing white too. And Flor and Isolde.”

Morgana narrowed her eyes playfully. “We are all to be married to some God, aren’t we?”

“Unfortunately,” Morgause said with a smile. “But it is only symbolic. Albun is already wedded to the Green Maiden.”

“Well that is reassuring, because no one else can have you,” Morgana said with a wink, making the butterflies in Morgause’s stomach take flight. A little bit of possessiveness was nice, as long as it was all in jest, and she knew that with Morgana, it was.

After a moment, Morgana’s smile turned into a frown of confusion as she realised that the dress was not the only thing in her parcel. Wrapped in the white fabric was a very old, fairly small leather bound book. The cover showed a design that Morgana recognised at the Wilde family emblem. She gasped and ran her fingertips gently over the soft cover.

“It is book of fairytales. Some of them are stories involving the Gods, but most just tell of earthy endeavours. It was my father’s and his father’s before him. He used to read me stories from it when I was young to help me get to sleep and keep me occupied whilst my mother was busy. He took it to Uther once, when I was very young, and the King spared it from the fires that took most of our religious texts. He said that a children’s storybook was of no harm to anyone, so do not fear reading to the babes from it,” Morgause assured her. “I had settled on giving it to Tristan when he was old enough to sire a child of his own,” she brought up both of her hands to Morgana’s stomach, “but I think that my father would have approved of you reading it to them.”

A tear fell from Morgana’s cheek to darken the green silk over the swell of the babes. She did not know what to say. She had been worried that Morgause had been pulling back from her and from the babes especially. She had feared that Morgause had decided that she could not love them after all.

Declining to open the book, she lifted up one of Morgause’s hands from her belly and placed the book in her palm. “If your father read it to you, then if should be you who reads is to our babes, not me. It is you who should soothe them to sleep and read to them when they want a story. If you want to, that is.”

Morgause took the book and bent down to kiss Morgana’s belly. “I would be honoured.”

For the first night in months, Morgause slept through until dawn. After Morgana let her rest for the night, that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank those of you who are commenting/reviewing. It is really useful as it let me know what aspects you are enjoying most and what you want to see more of. For example, in this chapter, a few requests to see the hair cutting scene saw it expanded from what I had originally written. And on request, there was more backstory and development of the Knights in the last few chapters.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the penultimate chapter.

_Long ago when the land was new and young, a beautiful maiden lived on the rocky shore of the salty sea. Her name came before the written word and her first breath before humanity had even begun to speak. Many have tried to fasten to her the names of later peoples, trying to make her their own. This foolishness shows that she could never be theirs or anyone else’s. Hers was a name not meant for mortal lips. Only the whispering of the wind could do it justice and so it remains the only place to hear it.  Like her name, the looks of this maiden may seem strange to us, with her skin like the froth of the wild waves – shimmering white and blue, ever changing – and her hair – like the rock on that coast – was black as night and just as glittering as the starry sky._

_As you have probably guessed from what I have said, this maiden was not human. She was the daughter of Gods._

_Unlike the Gods before her, she was not born of the earth goddess but the goddess’ children. The Queen of the Night and her lover, the Dawn, met at the start of every day until the night swelled, growing each day longer and longer. When at last the night stretched for many months, the maiden was born. Unlike her parents, she was not a god. She had human form and earthly desires, but she had some of her parents’ power and ethereal allure. Alone on the earth, she grew quickly to womanhood and found herself to be exceedingly lonely. She was, after all, quite alone but for the lower beasts._

_Many of the Gods tried to charm her. But all of their advances were met with cold rejection. Having been abandoned to loneliness as a babe, the maiden had no affection for Gods. If her loneliness was to be abated, she declared, it would be at mortal hands. And so the great game began._

_Each of the rival Gods created their heroes, sending them on great and perilous quests to win the maiden’s heart. None of them succeeded. They were the first humans and, being made in the maiden’s image, were cold and unable to warm her heart._

_Until, that is, the maiden came across a strange human babe nestled amongst the rocks. Intrigued, she reached out to touch the little girl, whom she found to be as warm as the midday sun. At her touch, the babe opened its eyes and stared at her, before creasing up her little brown eyes and letting out an effervescent noise that sent strange sensations fluttering in the maiden’s belly._

_Feeling very strange indeed, the maiden picked up the babe and cradled her to her chest before setting off for the human settlement on the cliffs above. There she found many families, each with little babes of their own – all as cold as she was. She searched and searched but not a one of the people in the village would admit to knowing anything of the child. When the maiden tried to suggest that one of them take the babe in and care for it, none would. The babe was different and so was not welcome in any of their homes, never mind their hearts._

_With white hot fury in her veins, the maiden stalked away from the village and slowly began to change…_

When the story was over, Morgause closed the book and laid it on the table by the bed. She was careful not to disturb Morgana, who lay curled up by her side in a pretty white nightdress to welcome in the festival of Albannui. As usual, Morgause, wore her white sleep shirt and nothing else. You could say that she was always robed to be Albun’s bride, but the slash of green over her heart said more clearly than anything else that she was already taken.

“It is a cold night,” Morgana whispered, wishing Morgause would wrap her in a warmer embrace. “And that was a cold story.”

“It is traditional,” Morgause explained for the second time, brushing back some hair from Morgana’s warm forehead and granting her wish of a closer cuddle. “The maiden in the story went on to marry the God this festival commemorates. The tale tells of how a human babe warmed her heart to love. It is because of her that the Gods first began to love their creation – us.”

“I understand,” Morgana said hurriedly, forever worried of showing her ignorance of the Old Religion. There were no books to learn it from and to ask Morgause was to admit the ignorance she was so desperate to hide. “Is it true, the tale?”

Morgause laughed and dropped a kiss on Morgana’s head. “No, it is only a story for children. We do not believe that is how humans came to live on this earth, but that, like all life, we grew and formed organically from the mother goddess’ life-giving energy. Though, we are not ignorant enough to pretend to know how. That sort of slow deliberate magic is beyond us mortals. We cannot see that far ahead. Or that far behind. We see time as a road – long and straight. The Gods… Some say they see it differently.”

“Do you not wonder if they are right?” Morgana asked, thinking of the Garden of Eden and wondering how she had ever believed such a preposterous tale to be true – really true. Maybe that too had been intended as a children’s tale for the children of the one God. Those children had just grown up and never stopped believing it.

“I have much more pleasant things to wonder about,” Morgause answered, skimming her hand over Morgana’s belly.

Morgana smiled, contented at the change of subject. Sleep was blurring the edges of her vision and she could feel her body relaxing, tingling.

“I had the most wonderful dream last night,” she whispered.

“Oh yes?”

“We lived in a little house in the woods near Mermering, you and me. My father had never died and the world had never seen Uther Pendragon. You were one of my father’s knights and you asked for my hand when I came of age. My father consented and we had the most wonderful wedding on the beach and dined in the White Keep,” Morgana recalled, picturing it all again behind her closed eyes.

“That sounds like bliss,” Morgause agreed, running her fingers through Morgana’s hair and kissing her forehead.

“It was,” Morgana agreed with a blissful smile. “Every morn I made you breakfast and helped you don your armour, before biding you farewell for the day. Then I would spend the day caring for the house and the little garden out back, and for our daughter and son who were little more than babes – born less than a year after our joining. And when you came home to us, we would have dinner as a family and after we had eaten, you played with our children whilst I cleaned dinner up and then you put them to bed. Then, when they were asleep, you would take me to bed and spend the rest of the evening lying with me and promising to make our family even bigger. It was the most wonderful dream I have ever had.”

When Morgause did not immediately react to her tale, Morgana sat up in her lover’s arms and looked at her frown. “You would not want those things?”

Morgause sighed, knowing anything she had to say would not be what Morgana wanted to hear. “No, I would not.”

“Oh,” Morgana said quietly, turning away. “I am sorry if I have disappointed you. I should have kept it to myself.”

Morgause’s eyes drifted closed and she shook her head. “I do not want that because you are more than a wife, Morgana. You are Queen. Even if you were not, I could never let you care for me like a servant. Love is nothing if we are not equal in it. Having you do everything for me would be unfair. Do you not want more than that out of life?”

“You dismiss everything you did for me!” Morgana rebutted, hurt that Morgause could ever think she would dream of being her servant. “You worked and fought for us. You gave me a contented home and children to fill it with.”

“But I cannot!” Morgause shouted sharply. “If that is what you want, then you will have to admit, for both of our sakes, that I will never be enough for you.”

A tear ran down Morgana’s cheek. “That is not true! You are more than enough for me!”

“Then you could live a happy and fulfilling life without ever bearing children?”

The Queen’s silence said it all. Once she could have said yes. Now… Now she knew that she never could.

“Tell me, Morgana, if Uther died tomorrow, would you be happy knowing that you would never have another babe after the ones you carry now?” Morgause asked harshly, determined to prove her point, even if Morgana’s answer would hurt her.

Morgana frowned and turned away, saddened by her own answer. “No.”

“Well that answers our question, doesn’t it?” Morgause choked bitterly, pulling her legs from under Morgana and sliding quickly from the bed. “If I cannot even make you as happy as Uther can, then what is the point?”

And with that she left, leaving Morgana alone, with only the guards at her door for company.

 

~*~

 

Morgana did not sleep that night. Morgause’s words swirled endlessly in her head, not giving her a moment’s peace. There was something fractured between them and even when things seemed to be going better, a single moment could break them apart again.

She awoke on Christmas morning, before the sun had risen, to find herself entirely alone. She remembered with regret that she had given Gwen the day when it was Emilie who answered her call. The girl was twitchy and on edge. For a few terrifying moments, Morgana wondered if she had heard her argument with Morgause the night before. But that could not be so. Emilie never entered her chambers unless accompanied by Gwen or when summoned. If the arrangement – which had the purpose of keeping Morgana and Morgause’s relationship from her – seemed odd to her, she never showed it. This was her first real experience as a maid. It was expected that she work her way up the servant’s peculiar social strata.

As cold as her chambers had grown with no fire burning for most of the night, Morgana would gladly have stayed there if it meant avoiding Uther and her day-long obligations. It was still dark when they entered the chapel and took their place on their knees before the congregation of Camelot’s finest families. In this Morgana would be afforded no special treatment, no matter how heavy with child she was. For four hours, she listened to the bishop, prayed for the forgiveness of their sins and gave gratitude for the birth of the Saviour – never once shifting from her knees. All of this was, of course, conducted in Latin, as were services throughout the kingdom. The word of God need not be understood, only feared and exulted. The chapel in the castle contained the only people in their borders likely to comprehend a word of it. Both the King and the Papacy preferred it that way. Ignorant people were easier to rule. Or so they said.

The only thing that got Morgana through the ceremony was the knowledge that she was wearing white in praise of an entirely different god, and not a single person present was astute enough to see it.

Following chapel, they broke bread in the great hall – all 200 nobles feasting on fist-sized portions of bread, which was to be dipped in olive oil and consumed in contemplative silence. Here at least Uther gave Morgana a reprieve, allowing her to take her own portion and one for each of the babes. Morgana would have preferred to fast entirely until their meal after sundown if it meant avoiding the oil. The taste of it turned her stomach. It reminded her of Uther’s greasy hands.

When she managed to make Uther hear her excuses to and could retire to her chambers, darkness had been over the land several hours already. Morgause was waiting for her.

“I wore the dress,” Morgana said shortly, arms folded across her chest. It looked a good deal less impressive over the swell of her belly, but she did it anyway. She was annoyed and she wanted Morgause to know it.

In the low light of the fire, she could see that Morgause’s hair was adorned with slim white ribbon and flowers to match the white of her shirt. Her breeches were resolutely tan. Morgana supposed there was only so much she could get away with, given the knowledge of her family’s magical past.

“I am glad,” Morgause replied with a nod of her head. “I had wondered if you might not wear red to spite me. Then I saw you in the chapel and felt guilty for ever having entertained the thought.”

Ever gallant, even now.

“I will not apologise,” Morgana said firmly. “I am allowed to dream. Uther has no power over me there and neither do you.”

Morgause looked surprised. “I thought you might have reconsidered. Seen things from my perspective.”

“No.”

Sighing, Morgause dropped her head into her hands. This was not how she had expected the conversation to go. She had thought the time apart might make Morgana more reasonable and realistic. “I do not know what you want me to say, Morgana – let alone what you expect of me.”

“I expect that you would find a way,” Morgana said bitterly. “If you loved me, you would find a way.”

Morgause could not help but laugh mirthlessly. “There _is_ _no way_ , Morgana. Magic cannot create a life. Transfer one – yes. Perhaps. _If_ the Gods granted it. But create one – no. It cannot be done.”

“Why not?!” Morgana cried, fighting back the urge to scream with frustration. Ever since Morgause had begun using her magic, she had held hopes that one day it would allow her to bear Morgause’s child. Nothing could bring her greater pride and joy, and to hear Morgause call it impossible and anger at the very mention of it drove Morgana to distraction.

“Surely you cannot be so ignorant? It would defy the most basic laws of nature!” Morgause retorted, as if speaking to a witless child. “Magic cannot change that. Life cannot be created from thin air!”

“Why not?” Morgana questioned again, her voice coming out as a sob.

Guilt washed over the supposedly gallant Knight and urged her to Morgana’s side.

“I should not have shouted,” she whispered, feeling foolish for her anger. Was it really so bad that Morgana wanted a child with her that much. If she was honest with herself, she wanted it too. Of course she did. But she did not want the life Morgana had dreamt for them and could not understand how Morgana possibly could.

Morgana sniffled and buried her face in Morgause’s neck.

“It is not fair,” she protested, her voice muffled and weak. “How can it be that I can have Uther’s child and I love him not, and yet love you so entirely and be damned never to gaze into the eyes of child and see both you and myself reflected there? That is all I want. I want something that is mine and yours, connecting us. Why can that not be?”

“Because the Gods are cruel,” Morgause suggested. “Or because man is. Either way, I cannot change it, no matter how much I want to. And I do understand, Morgana, I promise.” Morgana’s sniffling stopped. “But I promise to love your children as my own and promise that you will never have to do this alone. These babes will grow up surrounded by _our_ love and nothing Uther does or says will ever be able to compete with that.”

“I wish they truly were yours,” Morgana murmured, turning her head so that she might be heard better. Her anger had subsided and all she felt now was sadness and regret.  “Uther may have married me before you could, but I will not have him baptise them into the religion of his One God before the Old Religion can claim them,” she whispered fiercely. Blinking back her tears, she lifted her head and looked into Morgause’s earth dark eyes. “You will not let him, will you?”

A shiver of magic prickled over Morgause’s skin. “No, my love,” she said determinedly. “By the Gods, I will not let that happen if you do not wish it to.”

Morgana swallowed and tilted up her head to kiss Morgause – forgetting their differences and losing herself once more to her brave Knight who she knew would never let her down.

 

 

~*~

 

 

A week passed in a flurry of activity as the city readied to host the great inter-kingdom tournament. With Uther’s attentions on that, Morgana got a week of peace to reconcile with Morgause in the privacy of her bedchamber. The time left to her due date was quickly running away from her and she was determined to spend as much time as she had left in Morgause’s arms, with Morgause’s needs her only concern. On those golden, quiet afternoons Morgause finally told her some of what had gone on whilst she was away at war. She told Morgana of all she was ashamed of and then let her take away her guilt with sweet words and gentle kisses.

Then she told her of Edwin – though not all of it. She left out Edwin’s threats and what he had come there to do. All she said was that he had attacked the camp and that she had been the one to finish him. Morgana was so shocked into silence by even that small detail that she had not been able to speak for a very long time. And when she did, it was to praise her brave Knight and promise that she would die before letting anyone hurt her. Anyone who tried would learn she was not some meek little lamb but a wolf with sharp claws and a keen eye for vengeance. Of her kingdom, she did not much care for the time being. It was Uther’s for now and she had enough souls in Camelot to pray for without adding to that list the people of a kingdom who had tried to take her heart away. Still, she spent the rest of that night kissing the scar Edwin had given Morgause, and spent her dreams walking the streets of her new kingdom, trying to find something to connect with in its people. She failed.

At the end of the week, the parties from the other kingdoms began to arrive. First came the once great kingdom of Worcester, to ceremonially bend the knee to their new King. Their party was small and weak, with all of their strongest soldiers having lost their lives in the war. They were not unwelcome, though, as they brought with them precious supplies and a beautiful princess who was now, by law, Uther’s. Morgana accidentally saw him taking her in an alcove on the great western hallway the very night that they arrived. She and Morgause had been taking a midnight stroll to try to calm the babes to sleep. The sight of her husband with the princess he had been charged with getting with child had made her blood boil. Her people had suffered and still he had not learnt. Morgause had to pull her to lead her away and then let Morgana take out her frustrations on her when they returned to her chambers.

After Worcester came Mercia and King Raigal with all ten of his children. The eldest boy, Prince Llewellyn, was to fight for Mercia in the tournament. He was the same age as Morgana and appeared to be as much of a prat as when she had met him at the grand old age of ten. Camelot and Mercia had been at war then and she had to remind herself to be nice to him this time, even if he did not deserve it. Second eldest was a girl named Eliah and below her was her sister Cerys. Both were of the age that their entertainment was to be Morgana’s duty, though she had a not unfounded suspicion that Uther would be the one entertaining them by the end of the week. They were young and pretty, and that meant that Uther was entitled to them – at least he seemed to think so. Morgana could only pray to the Gods that he did not manage to start another war or she might have to order the Knights to castrate him and test out their loyalties once and for all.

King Thomas arrived the next day with his two infant sons and a Queen almost as heavy with child as Morgana. On Morgause’s encouragement, Morgana struck up a friendship with her and found that she enjoyed her company very much. Queen Isabella was a quiet and demure woman who liked nothing more than to spend the morning embroidering and the afternoon composing watery poetry. But she was kind and full of reassurances and advice for Morgana in the art of motherhood. She was still nursing her youngest boy and intended to do so until he was a year old at the least. It was in that she showed the steal beneath her soft exterior, telling Morgana of her fierce fight with her husband, insisting she be the one to nurse her own children despite society thinking it beneath a Queen. The fire in her eyes gave Morgana the resolve she needed to insist the same to Uther. To her surprise, he agreed.

Two days later, Morgana met her favourite guest so far – Princess Mithian of Nemeth who, instead of coming _with_ her father, came in his place. Where all of the other women cooed over Morgana’s size and asked after babe names, Mithian used her razor wit to outfox Uther at the dinner table of a night and took Morgana’s arm to talk of politics during the day. She even declared loudly one evening that she and her father had agreed that she would not marry until she found someone she loved and even then that he would be not be King of her kingdom. Morgana very much hoped that the little girl inside her was listening and taking note of all this miraculous woman had to say. She might need it one day.

By the end of another week, all of the kingdoms in the land were hosted within Camelot’s walls. There were ten Princesses and Queens for Morgana to entertain and six Kings for Uther to treaty with. Eight champions, including Morgause, would compete over the next eight days in eight separate challenges, earning points which would determine the victor at the end. The first event was a show joust where the champions were required to perform a number of feats on horseback, such as lancing rings suspended in mid-air and hitting weighted targets without being unhorsed by the sandbags their blows aimed in their direction.

“I must say, Your Highness, that I am rather intrigued by your kingdom’s champion,” Princess Mithian commented as Morgause trotted into the arena on Nightmare’s back.

All of the women watched as Morgause stopped before them to bow, her long golden hair plaited with gold vines and tied with a purple ribbon – a sign of the Queen’s favour. For once, she was permitted to make such a staunch show of loyalty to her Queen without it being out of place. She was determined to show the world that she would die for the glory of her Queen and kingdom. No other champion could match her in that.

Morgana rose as gracefully as she could to her feet and curtseyed to her champion, holding out her hand for Morgause to kiss.

“May your radiance speed my steed’s hooves and steady my hand, Your Highness,” Morgause said in a loud, clear voice for all to hear.

“And may you ride with grace and honour, my champion,” Morgana replied, blushing at half a thousand eyes watching the press of Morgause’s pink lips to her ivory pale hand. It took a good deal of effort to quash the impulse to grasp Morgause’s hand and turn it over to kiss the inside of her wrist and her palm as she so often did. It was a particularly intimate gesture that seemed to be unique to those who followed the Old Religion. Doing it in front of the whole of Camelot would out their magic and relationship both. It wold be so easy. Just one perfectly placed kiss.

Morgause bowed again and the crowd erupted into cheers, making Morgana laugh and blush deeper. Not a one of them had the slightest inkling that she had lavished every inch of her champion’s skin with kisses in the low dawn light. Or that it was her who clothed her in steal and kissed her sword and lips for luck.

“It is rather… unique to have a woman as your champion, Your Highness,” Queen Isabella said kindly as Morgana retook her seat and Morgause moved to bow before her King.

“It is more than unique,” Mithian said with a catlike smile. She was mischief through and through, Morgana had decided. She liked that. “It is an act of pure brilliance that I for one will be emulating if we ever meet again in such a tournament. A man could never match a woman’s determination, quick wit or ruthlessness.”

Morgana smiled almost wickedly in response. She was going to enjoy Mithian’s company. “She is the finest Knight in Camelot. You may not want to come back for another go at her after she’s done with your Sir Vitus.”

“Precisely,” Mithian agreed. “Why send a man when a woman can do the job so much better? I fear Nemeth must give up all hopes of winning on the very first morning. Still, there is always next year. The winner is the competitor who plays the long game.”

She matched Morgana’s roguish smile and turned her eyes back to the arena. It was clear to Morgana that Mithian and Isabella’s words were said to prevent any of the other women making a derogatory remark. Morgana was well aware there had been whisperings of disapproval and amusement from nearly all of the other kingdoms, and any effort to keep the talk from her ears was very much appreciated. A Queen is bound to defend her champion with the ferocity of an icy wind, and that would not be good for interkingdom relations.

All eyes were on Morgause as the drum sounded and she put heal to horse, going from statue still to a full gallop – dust billowing in their wake. It would have been quite an impressive sight, Morgana thought, if she had not spent the previous two mornings watching her practice. All from the safety of her window, of course. Uther could not have her just wandering around.

As one smooth being, Knight and horse thundered up the length of the arena, rounded the corner and doubled back. The first part of the day was judged on horsemanship and each champion was required to show their ability to remain in control at great speeds. Far from being a nightmare, Morgause’s horse responded perfectly to her commands and they managed to score almost full points for their display. Morgana got to her feet to applaud her as Morgause stopped to again bow her head at the royal box to the roar of the crowd.

As Morgana retook her seat, her eyes still on Morgause’s retreating form, a sharp burning flashed over her belly from top to bottom. The sudden pain caught her by surprise, making her gasp and bite her lip almost hard enough to draw blood.

 “Are you quite well, my Queen?” Mithian asked, resting a concerned hand on Morgana’s arm. Her eyes were wide and fearful; her voice made it quite clear that she expected Morgana’s answer to be ‘no’.

“I am,” Morgana lied, grimacing. “I have been getting these little pains for the last few days. My midwife tells me it is quite normal and nothing to worry about. All in preparation, I am told.”

She noticed Queen Isabella eyeing the low swell of her stomach. When she made to meet Isabella’s gaze, the other woman looked back to the arena and the entrance of her own champion.

Sir Oswald made a fine display up until about half way through when he lost his footing in the stirrups and dropped his sword in an attempt to keep his balance.  Mithian’s champion did rather better, matching Morgause’s score and delighting his Princess who jumped to her feet and cheered loudly for him. Morgana could not help but smile. She was beginning to wonder if there was something going on between Mithian and her young, swarthy champion from across the sea.

Before too long, it was Morgause’s turn in the arena again. This time she had to exhibit her accuracy with a lance. Mithian turned to Morgana and whispered some quite scandalous innuendo that insinuated Morgause was likely very skilled in the thrust of a lance. Morgana’s answering blush made Mithian laugh and pat her hand just as another pain struck her.

“Ah!” she cried, doubling over her belly and gritting her teeth. Within seconds the pain had subsided and she sat up in her seat, waving off Mithian’s concerns. The pain had been worse. She was sure of it. Every one was worse than the one before.

“My dear, I think you may need to retire to your lying-in room,” Isabella whispered kindly. “I am sure the Princess will be happy to escort you.”

“Nonsense, I shall be fine,” Morgana dismissed. It was too soon for the babes to come. She had only seen Amina that morning. “Besides, that would leave no one to look after Your Highnesses. We could not have that. Camelot will not be a bad hostess whilst I am her lady.”

Mithian smiled and squeezed her hand. There was deep kindness in her eyes that reminded Morgana of Gwen. But even with Mithian’s kindness, she would rather have Gwen be by her side to reassure her.  But, alas, Uther had forbidden it. He would not have a girl who had been a servant take a seat amongst royalty. Even if she was supposed to be Morgana’s lady-in-waiting.

“We are adequately entertained, I assure you, Your Highness,” Isabella said with a smile. “We all have a knight in this here tournament. That is entertainment enough.”

“Quite,” Mithian agreed. Her attention turned to the arena as her champion entered. She could not hide her excitement.

For a while, they fell silent again, all watching their respective champions. Two hours passed and Morgana’s pains came more and more frequently. She was starting to panic.

“Your Highness,” she addressed Queen Isabella, “do you perhaps think that…”

“I do, Morgana,” Isabella confirmed calmly. “I think it may be time to appeal to your husband to excuse you for the day.”

Morgana’s heart quickened and her cheeks paled.

“Let me,” Mithian offered, leaving no time for Morgana to refuse as she swiftly got to her feet and wove her way to the King.

Morgana bit her lip and waited. She could not believe it when Uther stood and made his way to her side, kneeling before her.

“Is this right, Morgana, what the Princess tells me?” he asked, laying his hand on her belly.

She nodded.

Smiling, he brushed his hand over her cheek. “Good girl. This is one way of taking the people’s attention off of their pretender of a Knight, I suppose. Off to your chambers. I want my son in my arms before the day is done.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Morgana promised, nodding her head meekly. She was too afraid and the audience too unfamiliar for her to be defiant. “Might I be so bold as to ask a favour of you, good husband?”

His gaze remained steady, telling her that he would consider it.

“Send our champion to me as soon as you can spare her? I know that she cannot protect me from this but…” She looked up at him through her eyelashes pleadingly.

He smiled as if she was ten again and begging for a maid to sleep beside her to ward off the frights of the night.

“When she is done,” he agreed.

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

Fire burned at Morgana’s cheeks as she bit her lip and shifted from foot to foot in embarrassment, holding up her dress and gazing down at the ruined rug. She looked up at Gwen like a little girl who had wet the bed.

“Sorry.”

Gwen giggled, watching Morgana’s feet squish up and down. It was too comical, even with her worry. “You needn’t apologise to me. I’ll have Emilie clean it. Ladies-in-waiting do not do the laundry.” Morgana did not look any less ashamed. Gwen smiled. “But they do give hugs.” She opened her arms. “Come here.”

With one last look at the rug and still hitching up her dress, Morgana waddled squelchily over to her friend, allowing herself to be hugged.

“Hush, now,” Gwen soothed as Morgana started to weep, “all will be over soon and you will have your babes in your arms.”

“But what if I cannot do it?” Morgana breathed fearfully. “What if I cannot bear the pain or what if they just cry and I cannot make them stop? What if I _die_? What if _they_ die?”

“Hush,” Gwen quieted, holding Morgana at arm’s length.

“I need her,” Morgana whimpered.

Gwen smiled and brushed Morgana’s hair back out of her face. “I know.”

 

 

~*~

 

 

With a few words of praise in her ancestral tongue and a soothing pat to the neck, Morgause bid Nightmare farewell for the night and jogged out of the stables. All in all, the first day of the tournament had been a successful one. She had taken the early lead and would enter tomorrow’s hand to hand combat round with the highest score, giving her the advantage of picking their weapon. It would be the sword - that great leveller of men. With maces or battle-axes she would be easily outmatched by her competitors strength. But with a sword in her hand, she could lead them on a merry – 

“Morgause.”

Morgause’s chain of thought was abruptly cut off by the sound of the King’s voice.

“Your Highness,” she spluttered. Her surprise made her bow unsteady. Why had the King come to talk to her? And what was he doing in the stable block? Surely even he could not be disappointed with her performance.

“The Queen has requested you attend her in her chambers,” Uther proclaimed, his words clipped with annoyance at being the messenger. “She…” He seemed unable to find the words. “My lady wife is to give me my son tonight.”

Morgause felt like someone had dropped a cold stone down through her belly.

“Come,” the King commanded.

 

~*~

 

“Why is she not here?” Morgana asked desperately, shivering in her nightshift. It was not yet long past noon and the air was already as sharp and cold as ice.

“She will be on her way,” Amina said calmly, talking Morgana by the arm and escorting her back to the bed. If the candle was right, Morgana was going five minutes between contractions, meaning that she was progressing far faster than first time mothers usually did. If Morgause did not arrive soon, she might very well miss the births.

As if on cue, Morgause burst through the door looking every bit as distressed as Morgana.

“Oh Morgana, my love!” she cried, running to her Queen’s side and taking her hand to kiss.

If it had not been for Gwen’s quick actions, the door would still have been open and the King would have heard and seen all, as he came only moments behind Morgause.

“Oh, my love,” Morgause whispered, kissing Morgana’s hand again. “Would that they had torn me from my horse and let me take to your side sooner.”

“You are here now,” Morgana murmured, smiling almost dreamily at Morgause. The wine Amina had given her was doing nothing to dull the pain, but her nerves were melting away. Or maybe that was the sight of Morgause. Nothing bad could happen now Morgause was at her side. “I want to kiss you.”

Morgause laughed, a charmed smile lighting up her eyes as she leant down to fulfil Morgana’s wish.

“So demanding,” she teased, before kissing her softly and lingeringly, taking one last moment that was just for them. For all anyone knew, Morgana could be taken from them before the fall of night. It was all Morgause could think of. All she could think of for weeks now. Leon had heard far more about her fears for Morgana’s life than she should have let him hear. If she was not careful, he would guess at their connection.

“Now that Morgause is here, will you let me examine you?” Amina asked, clearly peeved that Morgana had refused before.

Gwen shot her a sharp look. She did not like the lack of respect that Amina showed her Queen. She had never once heard her give Morgana the respect she deserved.

Morgana, who was in no mind to notice Amina’s annoyance, nodded and bit her lip. Her hand shot out and grasped her Knight’s.

“I need your feet flat on the bed and your legs apart. Can you do that for me, Morgana?” Amina asked in a professionally soothing voice.

Complying, Morgana screwed up her eyes and turned into Morgause’s side to seek comfort in her familiar scent of fire and freshly cut wood. If she really tried, she could imagine they were back on the road again – curled up together beside the fire Morgause built for them, gazing into each other’s eyes. It was her sanctuary. Her haven.

Letting that calmness surround her, she took a deep breath and let herself think about what was happening. She was giving birth, finally, to her babes. After endless months of waiting and waiting and waiting, the wait was nearly over. And was that not the most terrifying thought she had ever had? Waiting and wanting, that had been the easy part. Now she finally had what she had wished for and it was suddenly far too real.

“Morgana,” came Morgause’s whispered velvet voice from beside her ear. She could feel Morgause’s hair tickling her neck and shoulder; could feel her warm hand on her arm. It was grounding, being surrounded by her. “Morgana, listen to me. This is far within your capabilities. You have shown time and time again that you are strong and steadfast as a mighty oak, as adaptive as the supple willow and as open to the change of times as the silver branches of the birch. From the first moment I saw you, I knew that the Gods had anointed you. You bear their divinity like a golden shroud that does not hide you from the world, but exalt you instead. There are tales, my love, of the children who will bring our kind back into the light. Children pray to the Earth Goddess to protect those children and their mother. They pray to her too, ask her to watch other them as they sleep, as she watches over her own babes.  I believe that woman is you, my love. It is you the prophecy talks of and you those children pray to and for. I can feel it, Morgana. With every touch and every kiss. When we are joined, I see the world reborn in the catch of your breath and the rise and fall of your breast. I feel my magic well up inside me and grown bold. It has never been as strong as it is when you make love to me.”

Morgana was vaguely aware of Amina and Gwen talking, but all she heard were Morgause’s words – like she were the Goddess, whispering it to her heart.

“That is how I know you can do this. Because you are destined for greatness and so are our babes. Nothing can change a prophecy. Nothing. Not blood, nor pain, nor Uther Pendragon. You have a destiny to fulfil, my love, and this is only the beginning.”

Her eyes opening as if after a lifetime’s sleep, Morgana lifted her head to meet Morgause’s lips. They were soft and home and sunlight on a rolling hillside. Power slipped between them, flowing back and forth and finally down into every fibre of Morgana’s body. It filled her and tasted of Morgause and love and a thousand years of worship.

She knew then. “I can do this.”

“We can,” Morgause agreed.

 

 

~*~

 

“The waiting is the hardest part.”

Uther lifted his gaze to find King Thomas towering above him in leather and woad-blue.  He had heard no footsteps on the alabaster stone. Old age and worry were dulling his senses. There was a reason he had not ridden out with his knights.

“I have faith that all will be well,” Uther said steadily. He had not held his throne for thirty years by letting his emotions into his voice. Emotions other than anger, that is.

“May you have my luck,” Thomas said with a companionable smile, sitting beside Uther on the bench that had been fetched for outside Morgana’s chambers. “And the luck of the others. They all send their good will. My wife especially.”

Uther tried to smile in return. He was not very good at smiling. Not on cue.

“Isabella has given me two strong sons in two years. God willing she will give me another and it shall be three in three.” It was not meant to be boastful, but Uther could not hear it as anything else.

“We are lucky men,” he said in answer, “to have such fruitful wives.”

Thomas frowned. Uther did not notice.

“Lucky indeed. You know, when my Isabella lay in with our first, I could not think for fear that I might lose her. No son, I kept thinking, could be worth that. No son was hardly even worth the pain she went through.” He clasped his hands and looked across at the wall. “I do not think that any pain we endure on the battlefield can match it.”

A tattered scream rung out from inside the bedchamber.

“No, women are weak. The pain would likely be nought to us,” Uther muttered distractedly.

Thomas’ eyes widened and his next words died in his throat. There really was no mystery in how Camelot always managed to blunder her alliances. The perpetrator was sitting right beside him.

Uther sighed. “How long do they usually take?”

“Robert put Isabella through a day of it. George a little less,” Thomas recounted. “The least we can do is be patient and wait.”

He managed to say it in such a mild way that Uther did not even see it for what it was – a judgement.

“I will be more than patient, as long as she is done by sunup.”

Thomas gave up.

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

“I need you to breathe for me, Morgana. In and out. Nice and slow. Good and deep.”

Morgana was starting to get annoyed and her magic – there was that ‘ _hers’_ again – was starting to effervesce with it. She glared at Amina, clenching her jaw. “I – know – how – to – breathe!”

Amina raised an eyebrow and leant back. “Apparently not. Otherwise you would not be so out of breath.”

A scream of annoyance flew from Morgana’s parted lips. If looks could kill…

Actually, Morgause was starting to worry about that. With all the magic running through Morgana’s veins, it would be so easy for her to lose control and send a volt of it – raw and dangerous – straight at the source of her infuriation. If anything were to blow their cover, that would be it.

 

 

~*~

 

“Have you – err – thought of names yet?” Thomas tried after a long while of awkward silence. He still was not entirely sure how he ended up sat on the bench with Camelot’s King, waiting for the birth of his future rival.

Uther looked genuinely confused and wounded, as if he could not understand why Thomas would bring up such a painful memory. Then again, he was probably too young to remember Igraine’s death the night after the chosen name for their future son had been toasted at the feast. “It is bad luck to name a child before it is born. With all the foul luck that I and Camelot have had this past decade, I would not dare to tempt fate. Not when it is my wife’s and children’s lives at stake.”

He looked at Thomas, seeing for the first time how very young he was. He was that very rare thing – a King who was younger than his Queen. He was, now that Uther recalled the timelines, close in age to Morgana. They had a different way of doing things, that generation. He almost envied them.

“You do not remember my first Queen, do you?” Uther asked.

Thomas gazed at the floor. “No, Your Highness. I do not think so.”

“Oh, you would remember if you had,” Uther said wistfully. A rare benevolent smile lit up his stony features. The light of it made him almost unrecognisable. “Igraine was the most beautiful, kindest, loveliest, wisest and loving woman ever to walk this earth. From the day I set eyes on her, I was changed. She made me someone that I could never be on my own. She made me someone who tried to make the world a better place, for her. When we were married, I could not believe my luck. I was young and foolish and far too in love than was good for me or Camelot.”

“No one can be too much in love,” Thomas asserted, a smile creeping onto his lips as he watched Uther recall his late wife.

“You can,” Uther corrected. “I discovered that the day she died. We had only been married half a year. She was with child straight away, as everyone expected, and we were both overjoyed. For seven months, I doted on her and Camelot flourished on the prosperity our love brought to the kingdom. She was the daughter of the King of Gwynedd and his Queen, Eliana of North Rheged. From our marriage, Camelot gained two mighty allies. But the day Igraine fell…” The King stopped, his voice shaking. “The day she died carrying my child, both allies turned on us. With their armies bolstered by the power of the Old Religion, we suffered heavy losses. Only the great illness that swept through their ranks brought Camelot the luxury of safety once more. That plague was a gift from the One God and I have seen to it that my people have paid thanks to Him ever since.”

Thomas could not help but feel pity for a love so cruelly lost. If anything were to happen to his Queen… “I cannot imagine a pain as hard as that.”

“No,” Uther agreed. “You cannot.”

Another of Morgana’s screams echoed through the stone walls.

“And now I have a new wife,” Uther acknowledged sadly, eyes turned sideward on the door to Morgana’s chambers. “She grew up in my care and she was every bit of wild as Igraine with all of her love for the people. It may be true that I desired for the fine specimen of blossoming womanhood that she was, but it was her compassion too that compelled me to make a wife of her. Camelot desired her and needed her every bit as much as I did. With a young Queen as full of life as Morgana, they were sure to get the heir that they and I needed so dearly.”

“Then tonight may Kingdom and King will be fulfilled,” Thomas said with a sweet smile. “And maybe on this momentous occasion, an alliance can be forged between our two Kingdoms. For the sake of our Queens and our children.”

 

 

~*~

 

“That’s it, Morgana. Nearly there,” Amina encouraged patiently, rolling up Morgana’s nightshift past her waist. “I can see your babe’s head. Just a few more big pushes and I will have him or her in my arms to show you before your other babe comes.”

“No!” Morgana cried breathily, as pain burnt and tore through her body. She could hardly stand it. Her breaths came in ragged pants from lungs that seemed far, far too small for their current purpose.

Amina rolled her eyes. She should have known that Morgana was going to be a difficult patient. The Queens always were. Then there was all the trouble that their maids always gave her. She was not entirely confident that Gwen would not produce a blade and hold it to her throat if she could not make Morgana’s pain go away soon. At least Morgana was quick, though Gods know how she was managing it. Most women lasted close to two days on their first. It could not have been more than seven hours since Amina had been called for.

“You cannot,” Morgana protested, her eyes wide and wild. “No one – touches – them – before –Morgause.”

“Morgana, I cannot promise-”

“No one!” Morgana screamed.

“ _I_ promise it, if that is what you want,” Morgause assured her, kissing her forehead and dabbing away her exertion. She was sat behind Morgana, supporting her and feeding her magic to give her strength. Morgana could not hold onto the magic that Morgause had given her and the babes. Not now. The space it left behind would be… excruciating in its emptiness.

Unsteady, Morgause slipped out from behind Morgana and made her way shaky legs to Amina’s side. Pulling so much magic through her body had made her as weak as it had made Morgana strong.

“Gwen!” Morgana cried, reaching out her hand to her dearest friend. Gwen hurriedly took to her side to soothe her.

“I helped when my niece and nephew were born and I – err – I have been reading a book,” Morgause informed Amina shyly, suddenly feeling wholly inadequate. “It explained… I mean, not _entirely_ but… I think, _maybe_ , enough to help?”

The generous smile that Amina gave her was encouraging. Briefly.

“Go and wash your hands,” Amina ordered, gesturing to the miniature tin bath. “And you are to do everything that I say, exactly as I say it.”

“Ah!” Morgana gasped, burning with greater pain than she had ever felt before. She prayed to the Gods to take her pain away. Morgause shot back to her and closed her hand around her leg, filling her with enough raw magic to last her an hour at the least.

“Are you…” Amina began, watching through her second sight as the wild magic that flowed through Morgause’s veins passed through her fingertips and into Morgana.

“Yes,” Morgause admitted reluctantly. Pushing magic into another person was forbidden in every sect of the Old Religion. It had not only been used to control others in the past, but to kill them. What Morgause was doing could not harm Morgana, but it was still forbidden on the grounds that one act could use to another. “She needs it. If I stop then her pain will be even greater. ”

“Very well,” Amina allowed, filing it away for re-visitation when all was over and well. “Come and stand where I am… That’s it. Now, Morgana, I need you to push even harder than you have been pushing. On the count of three. One. Two. Three.”

Screwing her eyes closed, Morgana pressed her chin into her chest and pushed as hard as she could, screaming with it.

 “Good, Morgana! You are doing so very well. Two more big, long pushes and your babe will be here. Come now, you can do it.”

With tears running down her cheeks, Morgana pushed again.

Everything went so very quick then. Reading a book and helping the midwives with Flor had been one thing, but standing before Morgana at this critical moment and having so much responsibility was quite another. Instinct and what she had learnt took over and then she had him in her arms and he was oh, so beautiful. Morgana’s little babe. Camelot’s new Prince. No sight had ever been so wondrous to Morgause as he was. Nothing could even compare. Nothing. Her heart swelled and overwhelmed her. He was in her arms and nothing had ever felt more right.

Exhausted, Morgana collapsed back on the bed with a whine, finally allowing Amina to see to her. After a quick assessment, determining that Morgana was not immediately going to have her second babe, Amina turned her attention on Morgause and the Prince. As if he had been waiting for a bigger audience, his first cry filled the room the second that Amina’s eyes fell upon him. Morgause watched, entranced, as his bright red face scrunched up and his cry turned silent. His little arms and legs flailed about him, clearly not yet under his control, and he wriggled in her grasp.

“Well now, is he not a lively little thing?” Amina said jollily. “Did you hear that, Morgana? You have a son with a strong pair of lungs. Give us a moment and Morgause will let you have a look at him.”

Whilst Amina dealt with the cord, Morgause gently rocked the little babe, unable to believe how beautiful he was. As soon as Amina was finished, she had Morgause wash him in salted wine to keep away infection and wrapped him in a sheep’s wool blanked to keep out the cold.

“Morgana,” Morgause whispered excitedly, sitting on the bed beside her. “I have someone for you to meet.”

With an exhausted whimper, Morgana’s eyes fluttered open and slowly focused on Morgause.

“He’s here,” she murmured, wincing as she pulled herself up into a sitting position. Her eyes widened with wonder as they fell on her son, who was all cuddled up in Morgause’s arms.

“He’s really here,” she repeated, giddy in her exhaustion. “Can I hold him?”

“Of course!” Morgause exclaimed, shifting the Prince into his mother’s arms. “He is yours. No one has more right to hold him than you.”

Morgana bit her lip and giggled. She was tingling all over her. Every little bit of her was afire with love and joy. He was perfect. Perfect and hers.

She bent down to kiss his forehead and breathe in his scent.

“I have been waiting for you for so long, my little boy. So very long,” she whispered to him. She kissed him again. “I had no idea how much I would love you.  I love you, my son. I love you so very, very much.” She looked up at Morgause with tears in her eyes. “ _Our_ son.”

“Our son,” Morgause promised, tears running down her cheeks. “And I love you both so much.”

Morgana smiled and kissed her. “Our Finnian. Golden haired, just like you. I saw him last night, whilst I slept in your arms – our fair-haired Finnian. Our son.”

“Prince Finnian,” Morgause tried out. “It is perfect, my love. Just like him.”

She leant down and kissed his flat little nose, then Morgana’s. “You amaze me. Both of you.”

“I do not wish to interrupt,” Amina interjected. “But it does not look like you are having any more contractions, Morgana, and your waters have not broken for the second babe.”

Fear flared in Morgana’s eyes. “Is that bad? Is there something wrong with her? Please, Gods, she must be well. I have seen her too. She was beautiful and blue-eyed and black-haired and mine!”

“It is alright,” Amina soothed. “Nothing is wrong yet, but the quicker we get her out, the better. Do you understand?”

Morgana nodded and clutched Finnian tighter to her breast.

“It sometimes helps bring on a woman’s contractions if she nurses. Shall we give it a try?” Amina suggested.

Morgana looked panicked again, turning her gaze to Morgause for reassurance. It always seemed like she had all the answers, even when she could not.

“If you want me to throw your maid and Knight out, I am more than happy to do so,” Amina offered, giving Gwen a sideways look. She would be glad to get out from under Gwen’s evil glares. It was distracting, if nothing else, and she could not understand what she had ever done to annoy her so.

“No,” Morgana said, blushing. “I – err – I want them to stay. If they want to, that is.”

“I am not going anywhere,” Morgause promised.

Gwen blushed when Morgana turned to her for an answer. “I should go and inform the King. He made me promise.”

She was sorry as soon as she said it. Morgana’s eyes turned downcast, and she murmured something that meant ‘of course’, but sounded more like a sob. Gwen had brought Uther back into proceedings, and none of them would thank her for it. Not for now, at least. They might realise later that it would be worse for them if Uther thought that he had not been informed of his son’s birth in a timely fashion. Probably not. It did not matter. She was not looking for thanks. Keeping Morgana from just a little of Uther’s wrath was more than worth it.

 

 

~*~

 

 

Uther’s attention snapped to the opening door and he found himself on his feet without ever consciously standing. His whole body was on edge. The longer Morgana laboured, the worse his nerves became. If something happened to her or the babes… He could not go through it again.

“Well?” he demanded.

For his abruptness, Gwen contemplated lying to him – telling him that there was no news yet. The fancy lasted less than a moment, though. She did not wish to die. And certainly not at Uther’s hands.

She curtseyed. Curtseys were always good when the men you were facing had as big an ego as Uther did. She had learnt that early in her career. It had only taken a few beatings to sink in.

“I have the honour, Your Highness, of informing you of the birth of your son,” Gwen proclaimed, curtseying again. Uther was hiding his smiled behind his hand when she looked up. He looked as though all his dreams had come true. She was almost touched. Or at least she would have been if she had not spent the last few years cleaning up after his ‘encounters’ with his wife.

“And he is…?”

“Healthy, it seems, Your Highness,” Gwen confirmed.

Uther forgot her then. Thomas had clapped him on the back and they embraced heartily – laughing, both of them. It was the strangest thing that Gwen had ever seen. Uther was embracing another King. He had made an ally.

Perhaps, Gwen thought, it was true what they said about births and new beginings.

 

 

~*~

 

 

Within the half hour, Isolde was born. She had thick hair that was as black as night and eyes like the wild blue sea, just like her mother said she would. She came out anything but silent, though. Screaming and crying. Wailing for her mother. Only when Morgana took her in her arms and gave her her breast, did she quieten.

The peace was short lasted. Gwen could only hold Uther off for so long. He was King and bull-headed when it came to most things, let alone holding his heir.

“Where is he?” he roared, beaming from ear to ear as he burst into the room.

Amina rushed forward to take the boy form Morgause’s arms and pass him to his father. “Here he is, Your Highness. Fine and strong a boy as I have ever seen.”

She was exaggerating. Finnian was little thing. Skinny and smaller than his sister. Not that his father would notice. Not yet anyway.

“Oh, Morgana,” Uther exclaimed, looking up at his wife with more love than she had ever seen from him. “He is a wonder!”

Morgana smiled shyly. “He is _ever_ so beautiful. I cannot take my eyes from him.”

“That he is,” Uther agreed, smiling down at his son. “And what of my daughter?”

“As beautiful as her brother.” Taking advantage of the King’s good mood, Morgana broached the subject of their names. “I named her Isolde.”

“A beautiful name for my beautiful girl. It is a wonderful choice, Morgana.” Uther perched on the bed beside her and kissed her forehead, before turning his attention to Isolde, stroking her rose-red cheek.

“And for our son, I thought Finnian. I know it is not a traditional name from your family but-”

Uther cut her off with a kiss that she was too dazed to recoil from. “I will find a way to live with it, I think, after this wonderful gift you have given me.”

Morgana smiled shyly again, blushing.                                                                                         

 

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

They were finally alone – just the four of them. The prospect had been both terrifying and wonderful all at the same time. Now that it was happening, however, all Morgana felt was calm. She could not recall a more perfect moment. Morgause cradled Finnian in her arms, swayed him in a shaft of moonlight and sang a lullaby in the language of the Old Religion. Morgana was torn between watching her and gazing down at Isolde as she nursed at her breast. Amina had told her that they would take little and often at first, but that their appetites would soon grow. The thought of Isolde’s appetite growing was a little daunting, what with her having fed four times already. Morgana voiced her concerns.

“Perhaps she just likes the closeness to you that it gives her,” Morgause suggested thoughtfully. “All she has known is being inside of you. It must be a shock to be separated from you so completely.”

Morgana frowned and bent her head to kiss daughter’s cheek, brushing the backs of her fingers gently over the crown of her head. “I had not thought of that. My poor little girl. I am not surprised that you preferred it there, where it was warm and snug.”

“Or maybe she _is_ just greedy,” Morgause countered with a smile.

As Morgana silently laughed, Isolde’s mouth turned slack and all movements save for her gentle breathing ceased. “Whatever the reason, it seems most tiring. I only wish that I could close my eyes and join her.”

“If you are too tired, Morgana, we can-”

“No!” Morgana said quickly, shifting Isolde slightly and tying the front of her nightshift closed. “It has to be tonight. You said that tradition dictates that it is done this very night.”

Morgause looked torn between going along with Morgana’s wishes and trying to persuade her into resting. “Traditionally, babes are blessed when the moon is at her highest on the day of their birth, yes.”

“Then bless them,” Morgana implored.

Against her better judgement, Morgause agreed.

Isolde and Finnian were laid side by side in a shaft of moonlight, on a warm fur rug. Beside Isolde’s head was a candle engraved with the sun runes and beside Finnian’s stood its twin, marked with the runes of the moon.

“I will do the ceremony in the common tongue,” Morgause informed Morgana, who sat beside her at the babes’ feet. “There is no need for the language of the Old Religion’s, as long as the words mean the same. It is more important that you understand and give consent.”

Morgana nodded in understanding and watched as Morgause closed her eyes and began to concentrate magic inside of her. When she was full, ready to overflow, her eyes slowly opened and she reached for the lighting candle clasped in Morgana’s hands.

“By the light of the Sun, in all his purity, I call on the spirits of my Wilde ancestors to gather here in this place.” Gently, she lit the candle by Isolde’s head and immediately the world around them took on a strange blurry shift. The sensation of being watched washed over them like a tide, not unsettling but comforting them.

“By the radiance of the Moon, in all of her wisdom and power, I call on the souls of the great High Priestesses to enter into me and make me their vessel through which these babes will receive their blessing.” Swallowing nervously, Morgause lit the candle beside Finnian and felt the souls of some of the most powerful and compassionate women that the world had ever known entering her.

“I call upon all those present – in this world and the next – to look upon these babes and bless them. They have been born of this woman who gave the light to draw you here. Through her love and nourishment, they were given life and substance. I ask that you bless them so that they thrive at their mother’s breast be content in the love and power of the Gods.”

Morgana watched as Morgause took the shallow clay bowl filled with earth from the foot of a willow – a tree most sacred to the Old Religion for its health preserving properties and its ability to dull pain. Into this earth, Morgause poured a vial of salted water that represented the sea and its richness of life. Lastly, she took a pinch of powdered crystal that glittered with all of the beauty of the stars and dashed it into the bowl. Her eyes glowed gold.

“Through the fertile earth and the cleansing sea, you raise and feed us, moulding us and gifting us with eyes and souls turned upwards to the glory of the heavens. With that great power, I ask you to take these babes and raise them high. Give them the strength to tame your power and, with it, to move the earth,” Morgause asked in a voice that did not wholly sound her own.

With more grace than even she usually possessed, Morgause cupped her left hand and immersed it in the bowl, lifting up a palm-full of the wet, glinting earth. “Take this gift as a symbol of your entry into these new souls.” Taking her index and middle fingers from her right hand, Morgause coated them with the mixture in her palm. “Like the earth and sea, give them life and strength.” Leaning down, she smeared the dark concoction over Isolde’s heart and then over Finnian’s.  “And like the eternal crystal, may you never leave them,” she finished, coating her fingers and touching them to Isolde’s and then Finnian’s hands and feet. When she was done, her eyes glowed once more, sealing the rite.

Feeling faint, Morgause sat back on her heels, closed her eyes and breathed deeply. It was possibly the most simple of all the rites of the Old Religion, but it was the first she had ever performed and it had been utterly exhausting.

Morgana opened her mouth but made no sound. She was not sure whether the ritual was over, and did not want to interfere if it would not. The possible consequences of doing that were unthinkable. Instead, she reached out and gently touched her love’s arm. Morgause’s fingers shot to cover Morgause’s fingers, startling her.

“I am alright,” Morgause whispered in a voice that sounded a little more like her own.

Not convinced, Morgana brought Morgause’s hand to her lips and kissed the backs of her fingers, darkening her lips with earth and crystal. At the feel of soft lips, Morgause opened her eyes and smiled at the sight of Morgana’s mouth. She sagged a little as the High Priestesses left her, knowing instinctively to give them privacy, and then she kissed Morgana – tasting magic on her lips.

“Is that it?” Morgana asked hopefully against her love’s lips. “They are done?”

Morgause smiled and kissed her again. “They are done. All we need to do now is leave the candles to burn down, but they needn’t be between them whilst they burn.” She tilted her head until her nose bumped with Morgana’s. She grinned. “You can have them back now.”

“It is not like they missed me. They were too entranced by you,” Morgana murmured, feeling foolishly shy. “And so was I. You look so beautiful when you do magic -so graceful, so powerful. Like the whole of creation is bending around you.” Morgana blushed and smiled. “It was a privilege… to watch you and be by your side.”

Before their lips could meet again, Isolde began to cry. As would continue to be the way of things for the next decade or so, Finnian followed his sister’s lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with me for this long, especially when the waits between chapters have seemed almost endless.


	27. Chapter 27

At one week old, Finnian made his very first venture out of the fire-warmed cosiness of his mother’s chambers. The expedition had been planned for days. Every eventuality had been thought of. He would not get cold, for he was swaddled in soft woollen blankets. Morgana had fed him before they left, so he would not get hungry. Uther could not discover their outing and enter a rage about it, as he and the other Kings were off hunting to keep themselves entertained whilst the tournament was postponed. Everything had been taken care of.

“And this,” Morgause whispered, continuing her tour of the castle, “is the barracks wing. When you come of age, you will be spending a lot of time here.”

Finnian slept on, blissfully unaware of the running commentary.

“That is, if you choose to be a knight. I know that your mother has her heart set on you following in my footsteps and serving your kingdom, but you need not let expectation rule your choices. You are a boy and a Prince at that. The whole world is open to you. There are Kings here at this tournament that preferred verse to violence when they were Princes. And they have made grand Kings.”

Silence.

“You know, a woman with a more delicate disposition might take offence at your reception,” she muttered with a smile as they turned the corner and arrived at the door to the Commander’s office. Morgause knocked with the toe of her boot.

“Royal inspection,” she called through the door. “Open up.”

Sir Leon opened the door and regarded Morgause curiously. When he noticed the babe in her arms he jumped back to let them enter, keeping his eyes fixed on his Prince.

“Morgause, you have… Is that..?”

“Commander, meet Prince Finnian of Camelot. Finnian, this is your Commander of the Knights of Camelot. One day, he will answer to you,” Morgause added with a slip of a smile.

“God willing,” Leon breathed distractedly, staring at Finnian with eyes wide with wonder. “He is… Oh, he is beautiful, Morgause.”

“He is definitely that,” Morgause smiled down at Finnian, quite besotted. “He is perfect.”

“And the Queen? How is she?”

Morgause’s smile bloomed. “She is a wonder, she really is. She was up on her feet in a few hours and her strength is quickly coming back to her, even with the rigorous demands of this little lamb and his sister.”

Leon chucked. “You ought to be careful calling him that. I think Uther’s after more of a lion.”

“I cannot help it if it is his sister who has the fire in her. I think we will find out why the Pendragons have a dragon crest when she is old enough to strut around the castle.” She looked up at Leon. “Your men will have to watch out.”

“I do not doubt it,” Leon agreed with a chuckle. “Any daughter of Morgana is bound to headstrong, and charming with it too. Those big little-girl eyes will have our Knights in the palm of her hand, even as she is kicking them in the shins for trying to get in her way.”

“And Finnian will be along after her to apologise for his overenthusiastic sister,” Morgause predicted. “They will have the run of the castle between them.”

Finnian shifted and whimpered, his little ears no doubt burning. Morgause patted his back with her hand underneath him and made a soft, sweet hushing sound to soothe him. Leon folded his arms across his chest and leant back against the cupboard to watch her. She was a master at it.

“You look good with a babe in your arms, Morgause,” Leon teased.

Morgause raised her eyebrow at him.

“Do not worry, I am not proposing to find you a husband,” Leon said with what could only be considered to be a devilish smile. “I meant only that this new extension to your role seems to suit you.” He nodded to Finnian. “He and you seem perfectly content together.”

“Morgana says that it is because I held him the moment he was born. He knew my scent first and now it calms him.” She was gazing down again, forever enchanted by him. “She says it so triumphantly, like it proves something.”

Realising what she had said, her cheeks coloured and she looked up at Leon, embarrassed.

Sighing, Leon stroked the beginnings of stubble on his cheeks. “I know there are things that we cannot talk about. Things that I _cannot_ know. If I _knew_ them, I would be forced to make a decision.” At Morgause’s plain worry, he smiled slightly. “That being said, I _am_ happy for you. For both of you. The Queen is happier than any of us have ever seen and she is stronger now, so much that she even stands up to the King. No matter how that came about, I cannot be anything but thankful for it.”

Morgause shifted uncomfortably. “You have always known that I-”

“Of course I have. I grew up a stone’s throw from your father’s house. We have been playmates since we were knee high.  I think I knew before you did. I have never judged you for it.” He moved to sit on his desk. “Which is why I have a favour to ask... Emiline has returned to Camelot. Her husband died in the war. On the wrong side, I know, but that is not his fault. I am sure that Emiline would love to hear from you. She barely knows anyone in the city anymore and she has a girl only seven years old.”

“What could I do?” Morgause asked, patting Finnian’s back when he began to stir again. “I have not seen her since…” She shook her head. She had not seen Emiline since the day she had admitted that she was betrothed, lying bare in Morgause’s bed. Morgause had said nothing as she silently dressed and left. What could she say? She certainly could not say ‘do not marry him’ or ‘have me’. “Why would you think she would want help from me?”

“The children will not play with her daughter because of who her father is. I told Emiline that your uncle has children of an age with her girl. Or there about... Maybe a little younger than her, but she does not have the luxury of having alternative playmates. We thought that maybe you could ask Tristan and Eleanor to give her a chance.”

Morgause raised her eyebrow. Tristan and Eleanor would be thrilled to have a seven year old to play with, damn them. Wait, did he say… “We? She is in on this?”

“It seems that my sister wants to see you. I am not the only reason she has returned to Camelot.”

 

 

*~*

 

 

The sight of Morgana, white gown shrugged off her shoulders to her waist, made Morgause’s heart flutter. Her hair was loose over her bare left shoulder, flowing down in obsidian waves over one breast, leaving the other bare for Isolde to nurse at. Morgana smiled down at her daughter, stroking the fine hair atop her head as she dozed and fed. At first Morgana had found the sensation uncomfortable, even painful, but soon she could think it nothing but bliss. There was nothing like it in creation, being that close to the little lives she had created, carried and born. She only wished that Morgause could share in it, to bind them all closer together.

“Greedy as ever, I see,” Morgause whispered as she approached, careful not to scare mother and daughter form their peaceful trance.

Morgana slowly lifted her gaze, letting it fall first on her son and then her lover with equal adoration. “She takes after you. Must be in the magic of yours she has flowing beside my blood in her veins.”

Morgause laughed softly. “How are my girls?”

“Perfect,” Morgana breathed, turning back to Isolde. “We have read a story about a kelpie from your book and she has been nursing in little bursts almost since you left. What of my Knights?”

Again, Morgause laughed. She bent to kiss mother and babe. “What will you do should he decide to be an academic in the people’s service rather than their defender?”

“Love him just the same, of course,” Morgana assured her with a gentle swat to her arm. “Has he been a good boy?”

“We had a few grumbles, but nothing a bounce and a kiss could not cure. The knights are quite besotted with their Prince - Sir Leon especially. We had to come back, though, once he started fussing for a feed and his mother.”

“And so they should be besotted,” Morgana smiled, adjusting Isolde as she slipped into slumber again. “He and his sister are perfect. Perfectly perfect. Just like you.”

This time, Morgause gave her a lingering kiss, stroking her hand over Morgana’s naked shoulders and licking at her lower lip, wanting her to open up for her, which she did, always soft and eager.

“Here, let us swap,” Morgana murmured against Morgause’s skilful tongue. “She has missed you, as have I. Give her a cuddle then put her down for a nap will you, my love? Then come back and take me in your arms and tell me all about your little adventure beyond our sanctuary.”

“So demanding,” Morgause teased, delicately executing their practiced babe-swap manoeuvre.

“Yet you always comply,” Morgana said with a sly smile. “I have you right where I want you.”

“Oh yes, my love. I am quite at your mercy.” She gently rocked Isolde, lulling her into a deeper sleep. “And her’s. And Finnian’s. And I would not have it any other way.”

Morgana smiled. “Good.”

A little while later they settled on the bed, Morgause sitting back against the carved wooden headboard with Morgana sat between her legs, lying back on her as Finnian nursed.

“I will never get you to myself again, will I?” Morgause teased, running the back her ring finger gently over where Finnian’s mouth met Morgana’s breast.

“Oh, you will. Amina says they will soon take more in one feed instead of all these little ones. I shall have to nurse them less and less often, so I will be all yours whilst they sleep away their full bellies.”

Morgause chuckled and kissed her cheek. “They always have plump little bellies and are still always hungry, especially Isolde. I shall believe it when I see it.”

“Mmmm…” Morgana hummed in agreement, her eyes drifting closed. Being a mother was even more tiring than being heavy with child. The broken sleep was even taking its toll on Morgause, though she would not let Morgana see her weariness.

“I am sorry, my love, but we have only two more days to ourselves before I must go back to the arena,” Morgause said quietly, half hoping Morgana would not hear her. She did not wish to spoil Morgana’s perfect happiness. They were in a blissful bubble, sequestered in a version of the world which could never truly exist.

Morgana stiffened. “But who will mother them and nurse them if the tournament is to start up again? Surely Uther will not expect me to sit with the other Queens so soon?”

“Uther will not hear of you leaving your rooms yet, I am afraid. He sent word. I picked up the note on the way back. But do not worry, I had a guard go up to the aviary to check. I would not take Finnian up to all those birds. Nevertheless, I shall have to leave you from almost dawn ‘till dusk,” Morgause said regretfully.

“Oh… I have not been without you for longer than the couple of hours you spent with Finnian today, and never without you when I had both babes to care for,” Morgana said fearfully, craning her neck to meet Morgause’s eyes pleadingly. “I need you.”

“You have never and will never _need_ me. Mothering has come to you as easily as air into your lungs. You shall be fine. It is me you should fear for. I do not know if my heart can take being parted from the three of you,” Morgause teased, dissipating Morgana’s worry with another kiss to her cheek, “or even whether my heart shall leave the room when I do. It may well abandon me to stay with you, and I will be left an empty shell, unable to do our beautiful kingdom justice.”

“No,” Morgana whispered, taking Morgause’s hand. “Nothing and no one can truly part us now. Not with magic flowing from your body to theirs and a little still to mine too. I could feel you when you were gone today, thrumming under my skin.” She spread out her fingers between Morgause’s. “Can you feel it?”

“For some time now. A little of it has taken root in you. It is beginning to flourish,” Morgause said proudly. “It is in your blood, you know – magic. I knew it from the moment we touched on the island. I do not think you would have to trace your line back far to find a sorceress.”

“I have wondered, about my mother,” Morgana suggested, excited at the possibility. “I know so little about her. It pained my father so to speak of her and Uther barely knew her at all.”

“Not so close, I think,” Morgause weighed. “And not on your mother’s side. At least not _only_ on her side. The Le Fay’s have some magical heritage. There are books with it all written down. We know for certain there were sorceresses in your father’s line as close as four generations back. There might even be a High Priestess, though we are not sure if she is a direct ancestor.”

Morgana’s mouth hung open in surprise. “But… Surely I would know?”

She felt Morgause shrug behind her. “Maybe not. I had to dig deep to find anything on the Le Fay’s. So much was buried when you bent the knee to the Romans – both sides wanted to forget. The memory might be a painful one for your family. Many families were stripped of their magic for allying themselves with the One God and his servants, the Romans. Perhaps your father was not told, to spare the shame.”

“Oh,” Morgana whispered, disheartened. “I am sorry.”

Again, Morgause kissed her cheek. “For what? My magic too is tempered by the Gods’ wrath at my father’s allegiance with Uther. All of us have the crosses of our ancestors to bear, to use a favoured phrase of the King. Our trials give us the opportunity to win back the Gods’ favour, not for our own selfish gains, but for our children’s sake. Part of our unpayable debt.” She stroked Finnian’s head as he slipped into sleep. “That, I think, is our destiny – you and I. We have waves to make in this world, all for the love of Gods and babes.”

 “Any destiny with you in it is one that I will not shy away from, even for a moment,” Morgana promised, turning her head almost painfully sharply to find Morgause’s mouth and kiss her soundly.

“That, my love, I do not doubt.”

And even though Morgana’s eyes could not stay open, she spent the night tasting Morgause’s sweet kisses – wrapped in her arms and longing for the day that they would together bring magic back to her people and land.

 

 

~*~

 

 

Time passed quickly in the two short days before the tournament resumed. Camelot’s champion could only watch wistfully from the window as her competitors trained in the courtyard and gardens below. Morgana had suggested that she should join them, but Morgause had insisted that she could gain strength enough right there in their quarters. Truthfully, she was too tired to lift a sword.  And besides, her father had always warned her against training with competitors. It paid to have them think her a weak woman. They never saw her mortal blow coming. Still, the lack of sleep was going to be a problem. Mystery was no advantage if she dozed off mid-mêlée.

“My yawning Knight,” Morgana jested with a teasing smile, handing Morgause her gorget. The polished metal gleamed almost gold as it caught the dawn light.

By virtue of her lobster-plate armour, Morgause had no trouble reaching up to lay the gorget around her neck. Despite knowing this flexibility very well, Morgana insisted that she should be the one to fasten the slim leather strap that held the gorget together to protect Morgause’s neck. She smiled as Morgause’s ungloved hands pulled them flush together, slipping down her sides and over her hips to rest on her arse. The feeling of the cold, moulded metal of Morgause’s armour pressing into her, along with the gentle pressure of Morgause’s hands on her arse, sent delicious shivers coursing through Morgana’s body. Morgause had not touched her that way since the babes were born. It had only been a week, but Morgana had missed it.

“Not tired enough to stop your wandering hands, I see,” Morgana murmured, her teasing tone shattered by her breathiness.

Morgause smiled that slightly wicked smile of hers which made Morgana’s knees weak. She gently squeezed Morgana’s tender flesh, making her Queen gasp, “Never.”

Before Morgana could regain her breath, Morgause kissed her deeply, making her head swirl in the dark, starry night behind her eyelids.

“I will be waiting for you,” Morgana promised, her eyes half lidded. “Eagerly.”

“As will I await my return to you,” Morgause countered, in her typical charming way. Plucking a lily from the vase beside them, she slid it into Morgana’s hair. “All I need is your love for luck.”

“Then you cannot lose,” Morgana promised, “because my love for you is boundless.”

With one last, lingering kiss, they parted.

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

The arena had been stripped for the mêlée, leaving nowhere to hide or take cover.  Of the six kingdoms, all but Worcester had a champion in the tournament. With only five of them competing, the arena was excessively large and so, as the crowd was prone to boredom, they were fenced in by a ring of red sand to speed things up. Crossing the line would lead to instant disqualification, as would the use of shields or forbidden weaponry, such as crossbows, any blade smaller than a shortsword or any warhammer with a handle longer than a stallion’s stride. Being held in Camelot, magic was also forbidden, as was the use of flammable powders or other conjurer’s tricks. For Morgause, none of these rules provided a problem. She had never used magic in a fight and she fought with a light longsword that she held in both hands, but could wield in one. With that sword, she was agile in her parries and light on her feet, but could put all her force behind a single deadly blow should she need to. It had served her well in hand-to-hand combat in the war and had almost won her the previous year’s tournament. Gods willing, this time she would be the last one standing.

When her name and kingdom was announced, Morgause raised her great sword in one hand and swept her eyes over the crowd. Everyone was cheering for her, but one amongst the many caught her eye – it was Emiline. She was every bit as beautiful as she had been eight years prior, when Morgause had last set eyes on her. It seemed as though time had passed over her, leaving her as beautiful as she has been at eighteen. Though Morgause had loved her deeply, she had been young and it was lust, not love that had first drawn her to Leon’s flame-haired sister. She felt that old familiar stirring in her belly at the sight of her in the crowd, but it was another that her mind quickly returned too. Not even Emiline could stand up to Morgana in beauty of body or spirit. She was the one who had Morgause’s heart now, and not even flaming red hair and spring-grass eyes could change that.

With a whistle from the King’s own lips, the battle began. And Gods, did it move quick. Lack of sleep or possibly lack of practice was making her slow, and all of the other champions seemed to sense it. Like a pack, they rounded on her, circling as one – an unplanned alliance to dispatch of the tournament leader. They assumed her inferior in hand-to-hand combat due to her small stature and, likely, her sex. That was their mistake.

“Poor little love,” the big man from Mercia taunted. “Wander into the big boys’ game, have you?”

The rest of the men laughed, with Nemeth’s champion lagging a few seconds behind. He was not skilled in their tongue, Morgause guessed. Nemeth to the west had its own language, Nemea, that vaguely resembled the language of the Old Religion more than it did Latin or the common tongue. That alone would not explain his ignorance. Every man, woman and child in Nemeth spoke at least Nemea and the common tongue both. No, Morgause decided, he could not be Nemethian, despite fighting for them. There was at least one sea between where they stood now and the land of his birth.

She shook her head. This was not the time for geographical speculation. She had to strike before her competitors did. If she did not, she was done for.

She turned on her left foot and swung – two handed. He shouldn’t have laughed, even if he did not know what he was laughing at.

The felling of Nemeth’s champion was the spark that lit the fire. He went down from a blow to his helmet, knocking him clean out. It was merciful. Foolish, most likely. Morgause didn’t much care. The suddenness of her actions had given her the crucial second she needed to get out of the men’s trap. She dashed sidewards in the gap Nemeth’s man had left and slashed at the nearest man’s flank. It struck plate. Dancing, she turned lashed again. Damn, she was sleepy. The sword in her hand felt like a blacksmith’s hammer – heavy and cumbersome. But she was a Knight of Camelot. She had been trained to fight with whatever she had to hand, and to do so gracefully.

“For Queen and Camelot,” she whispered inside her helmet, where no one could hear her.

Her prayer invoked, she closed her eyes, took a breath and lunged into the fray.

 

 

~*~

 

 

As much as Morgana wanted to be there to see Morgause fight in the tournament, she was glad that Uther had forbidden it. Gwen was by her side quietly embroidering, the babes were both finally asleep and her chambers were in absolute, blissful silence. It had become quite the rarity lately.

And then there came a knock upon her door.

“Noooooooo,” Morgana whined pitifully, laying her head on Gwen’s shoulder. “Ignore them and they might go away. I just want to sit quietly with you and watch you stich a flurry of flowers for silly noble women who will pay you a silver piece for it. Its therapeutic watching you rip them off in exchange for pretty things.”

Gwen sighed. “I do wish you had not bartered such an outrageous price. They could find my equal in any home in the lower town and pay not a quarter of what you have them paying me.”

Morgana almost audibly rolled her eyes. “They deserve it. Ignorance is a sin. As is the way they treat their servants and the way they let their husbands work their horses.”

At that Gwen giggled. “You should start a group of freedom fighters who liberate overworked equines.”

Morgana snorted. “Do not think that I will not.”

The knock at the door came again. The insistent sound gave the distinct impression that the knocker would be persistent.

Relenting, Morgana strained to her feet and padded across the cool stone floor, ignoring Gwen’s protests that she should be the one to answer it.

“Who is it?” Morgana asked tersely through the thick wood. It took a fair amount of maturity to not just tell whoever it was to go away. She raised her eyebrow when the mystery knocker stifled a laugh, badly. So it was a woman then. At least it was not Uther.

The mystery knocker cleared her throat and introduced herself. “I believe my full title is the Princess Mithian, Heir to the Throne of Nemeth.”

Morgana’s eyes widened in panic and she scrambled to open the door. She was hardly dressed to receive such visitors. All she wore was a plain green cotton gown which she knew would look poor beside Mithian, who was always in the latest fashions and the richest materials. It was not that she was fickle, but Camelot had standards and it was up to her to keep to them.

“Princess,” she greeted her immaculately presented guest, ushering her in and closing the door behind her. “I had thought that you would have been at the tournament, cheering on your kingdom’s champion.”

Mithian frowned in obvious annoyance. “Your champion knocked him out in less than a minute. It seems that his talents lie in bedding and not in battle.”

Gwen coughed and rose, announcing her presence. “Your Highnesses.”

“Oh, there is no need for you to leave,” Mithian assured her. “I am the one interrupting your tranquillity.”

Gwen’s smile said plainly that _she_ thought that she should leave. She kept enough of the Queen’s secrets, she did not need to add those of foreign royalty to her load. “If Your Highness will allow it, I will go down and catch a little of the tournament. I should like to see the mêlée.”

All Morgana could do was nod, worried at being left alone with the babes. She had always had Gwen or Morgause there to help her. She only had so many hands and if both were to cry, as one crying inevitably caused. “If you are sure…”

“I am, Your Highness. Be sure to send a servant if you require me.” And with that Gwen left, touching Morgana’s arm as she passed her. Morgana could not help but feel sad at her loss. She had been enjoying their time together, even if it had been in silence.

“I must apologise,” Mithian said as the door closed to leave them alone. “I had not thought to disrupt your morning.”

Morgana turned back to her and forced a smile. “You are not disrupting. I am happy to have a visitor.”

Mithian’s mischievous smile made an instant appearance. “Good, because your husband is a bore and a flirt, and the other women would have been unbearable if I had stayed much longer without a champion in today’s test. You are much more preferable company. And besides, I have yet to see these delightful babes of yours. Where are they?”

Morgana beamed. Just the mention of her children – _her_ _children!_ – made her heart leap with glee. “They are asleep, but if we are quiet, you can have a peak.”

She led Mithian over to the wooden cribs – one a gift from Morgause and the other from Gwen. To her surprise, Mithian let out a sweet sigh and gazed down at Isolde almost longingly.

“Oh Morgana, they are _beautiful_.”

Pride filled Morgana’s heart. She gave Mithian a curious smile. “I would not have thought you to be the type of woman to coo over babes.”

“That I am not,” Mithian confirmed, taken with the way Isolde’s belly moved up and down with each breath. “At least, I did not used to be. Now I cannot help but see the future in their tiny little fingers and button noses. Not my future, not any time soon anyway, but our land’s future. We have a great responsibility, not just to our line but to our people. A monarch who dies without an heir is dooming their kingdom to war. I am starting to understand why the notion obsesses men so.” She ran her middle finger over the embroidered ‘I’ on Isolde’s blanket. “All of our kingdoms rely on the children we leave behind. It is for them to do what we could not. To better our legacy.”

Morgana had been thinking much the same thing. “I will admit that hope that Finnian will make a more just King than his father.” _And that he will treat his wife with more respect,_ she added to herself.

“We must all hope that our children will overcome our faults,” Mithian agreed, taking Morgana’s arm to assure her that she would not judge Morgana on what she said. They were quite in agreement when it came to Uther’s failings. It almost made Mithian wish to steal Morgana away in the night and take her far away from her husband’s reach. Alas, that too would bring war. “But enough of this sombre talk. Tell me about them. You must be quite exhausted with twins to care for.”

“It is no bother at all,” Morgana said with a serene smile, reaching down to gently stroke Isolde’s warm cheek. “I cannot imagine how I ever lived without them.”

“You are lucky to have such an attentive lady-in-waiting. I hear that she was your childhood maid? I myself had such a connection once. Lucy. She was a year older than me and taught me every bit of mischief that I know. The sickness took her three winters back.” Mithian’s gaze had drifted, glinting with unshed tears. “I never had a sister by blood, but she was my sister in all the ways that matter. Maybe I would feel different about marriage and children if I knew that she would be by my side. You have Gwen for that. I imagine she is a great help.” As suddenly as it had appeared, Mithian’s sorrow was gone and she was looking at Morgana in a way that pleaded for her not to dwell on it.

“Oh, she is. I could not do this without her and Morgause. Gwen makes sure that I am never without, bringing everything I need before I have even discovered that I need it. She was there to hold my hand through it all, always whispering words of comfort. She has this way of making me feel safe as only a little girl ignorant of the world’s horrors can feel. I would do anything within my power to give her the happiness she deserves. She insists that she is perfectly content, even more so now that she has the babes to care for too. I only hope that she continues to find happiness here. And Morgause…” Her smile became blissful as thought of her Knight. “I do not know how I would be able to juggle Isolde and Finnian without her. When one cries so does the other, but Finnian always quiets the moment she picks him up. He is utterly content in her arms.”

“Like mother, like son,” Mithian commented with a reassuring smile.

The smile did nothing to quell the panic that rose in Morgana at the Princess’ words. She had already alluded the Queen’s relationship with her Knight. A second mention was enough to send ice through Morgana’s belly.

Seeing Morgana’s panic, Mithian said, “Yours is a secret that I am happy to keep. I promise that I will never tell a soul. You deserve happiness and there is no shame in seeking it with Morgause. In the last year, Camelot has become easier and easier to call friend. I imagine that is down in no small part to you, Your Highness. With you to guide Uther’s hand, Nemeth would be very happy to call Camelot her ally. In fact, I am having a treaty drawn up that will bind our two kingdoms together in friendship, with each promising to help the other in her time of need. We can give you food and passage through our land to trade. And I am offering the treaty to _you_.”

Morgana was speechless. “I… Why?”

“Because Uther will not live forever and you have born his heir. As Queen and mother to the next King, you will greatly influence the shaping of this kingdom’s future. My father agrees with me that you would make a formidable and valuable ally.” Mithian smiled playfully again. “You could say that I was sent here to charm you. How have I done?”

“Well,” Morgana conceded.

“My father thought that we might be quite alike, you and I. He was right.”

Morgana smiled. If what little she had learnt about Mithian was true, then she could not disagree.

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

When Morgause returned, Morgana was asleep. It was not long past midday, but the babes were napping again and Morgana’s body had insisted that she join them. She was woken by a cool hand resting on her cheek and a soft, sideways kiss. A whimper sounded from her throat as she wakened; her mind fuzzy and confused.

Morgause kissed her again as she roused, and this time she was greeted with a sleepy response.

“I can leave you to sleep, if you would like,” Morgause whispered, brushing back a lock of hair from Morgana’s forehead.

“No,” Morgana protested. Her eyes were still closed but her mind was beginning to resolve itself into some semblance of awareness. “No, I am awake.” Her eyes fluttered open, narrowing against the too bright sun. “What time of the day is it?”

“A little after noon,” Morgause said after a moment’s thought. “The mêlée is not a long event. Not with only five competitors.”

As if just then remembering why Morgause had been parted from her, Morgana jolted into full wakefulness, sat up and looked expectantly at Morgause. “And?”

There was that wicked smile again. “I won.”

A squeal of delight erupted from between Morgana’s lips, followed by a long pause of nervous silence as both women listened for cries. None came. They must have slept through it.

“Oh, Morgause,” Morgana gushed, wrapping her arms around Morgause’s neck. “My victorious champion. How happy you have made me.”

Morgause was grinning as she got up from her crouch and sat on the bed, Morgana’s arms still looped around her neck. “And all of it was for you.”

Morgana giggled and tugged at her, bringing her forward for a kiss that Morgause immediately took charge of, pressing Morgana down into the pillows and sliding atop her. Morgana whimpered and buried her hands in Morgause’s hair, excitement bubbling in her stomach. She wondered giddily if Morgause was still lusty from the battle and how far this new boldness would take them. Again, she whimpered, shivering in anticipation as she deliberately ignored the little voice telling her that she was not ready for this, not yet.

“Mmmmm,” Morgause moaned against her lips, opening her dark eyes and locking them with Morgana’s. “How about a ride? Do you feel up to that? Just you and me, and we could take it slow. Gwen can watch the babes for a few hours. What do you think?”

Morgana could not really think much of anything with Morgause’s weight on her and the warmth of her Knight’s breath on her damp lips. She nodded and craned her neck up to resume their kiss. After a moment, Morgause pulled out of her reach once more.

“You could sit behind me and we could take Nightmare out to look out over the Queen’s Valley. I have something special to ask you, and I want the setting to be perfect.”

Light headed, Morgana struggled for breath. If she had not been lying down, her knees would have given way and she would have swooned. Did she really mean…

“Yes,” she heard herself saying, “yes”.

They rode tandem out of the castle’s rear drawbridge, Morgana clinging to Morgause as the world whooshed by them. She must have fallen asleep, because the journey seemed to take no time at all before they were dismounting at the top of the peak that she and Morgause had ridden out to on their first meeting.

“My Queen,” Morgause said as she bowed to Morgana, before lifting her effortlessly off of the horse, her hands at Morgana’s waist, twirling her downwards. They were kissing before Morgana’s feet had touched the ground, Morgause’s strong hands pulling her close and supporting her weight as she again went dizzy from love.

“Gods,” Morgana murmured, unable to command her voice any louder.

Morgause smiled and gave her one last sweet kiss in the red-gold light. Then she fell to her knees as she had done on the pebbly beach on the island off Mermering, and reached up to take Morgana’s pale, trembling hand. They made the perfect picture of a Knight kneeling in supplication before her Queen.

“My love, my Queen,” Morgause began. “I am naught but a simple Knight who comes to you on bended knee, unworthy to stand equal beside you. It is still written in this Kingdom’s laws that I am forbidden to even look at you, though such a law has not been enforced for hundreds of years. For that lacking on the part of my brothers, I am eternally thankful, for if I had never been granted the honour to look upon you, I would never have had the privilege to look upon a goddess. But there is one more honour that the Gods have made me foolish enough to ask. Morgana, my love, I humbly ask if you would do me the honour of-”

With a start, Morgana awoke. The room glowed with the late afternoon light and Gwen was before her, hands still on Morgana’s shoulders from shaking her awake.

“Come, my lady, get dressed. We need to leave,” Gwen insisted, pulling her to her feet from where she lay atop the covers. The babes were crying. Finnian was _screaming_.

“What…” A cold shiver ran over Morgana’s skin and she suddenly felt the loss of something that had been keeping her warm. Panic overtook her and she looked to Gwen for answers. “What is wrong? What has happened?”

Gwen’s skin was ash pale, drained of colour. “It is Morgause, my lady. I am afraid that she has been very badly hurt.”

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

She ran to Gaius’ chambers, wearing only a shawl over her shift. When they reached the crescent-topped door that led into the physician’s main room, it was already open and the space inside was heaving with Knights.

Sir Leon spotted Morgana the moment she entered and ran to intercept her.

“Come now, Your Highness. Let us give Gaius room to work.” His arm stopped her progress easily and he quickly moved to block her view of whatever was happening in the middle of the room. Whatever it was, he did not want her to see it.

“What has happened?” Morgana cried, desperate to see around him, to break free of his grasp. She could see a discarded bandage on the floor and by the Gods was it bloodied.

“Morgause was injured in the mêlée. The Mercian champion had a banned weapon that he had concealed up his sleeve. She had no time to react,” Sir Leon told her gravely, looking down into her eyes as he would with a child, making sure that she understood.

“What do you mean ‘injured’? How?” Tears flooded down Morgana’s cheeks, sobs distorting her pleas.

Leon looked back over his shoulder, as if looking to his fallen sister for an answer. He sighed and looked back to Morgana, his hands steadfast on her arms.

“He had a pocket knife, the kind that thieves use on the streets. It seems that he…” He paused. He could not tell her. He could not tell his Queen – this trembling woman – what that Mercian scum had tried to do to the Knight that he knew she loved. But he must. No one else would. Gaius was too much Uther’s creature to ever tell a woman the ugly truth. “It seems that he used it to cut the strap of her gorget. Do you know what that is?”

Morgana nodded, her lips trembling. She had fastened it that morning. “Around her neck.”

“Yes,” Leon confirmed. “He cut the strap and it fell away when Morgause broke free from his grasp. When he lunged again, he aimed the knife at her throat.”

Bile rose in Morgana’s mouth and she had to fight not let it out. He… Her Morgause… He had… A dream she had once had flashed before her eyes – blood dripping down the hilt of Morgause’s sword as it fell from her lifeless grip.

“No,” she whispered. It could not be. If what she had seen was true then that would mean…

Leon continued. “The King saw the flash of metal in the Mercian’s hand and vaulted onto the battlefield. He pulled the Mercian off Morgause and drove his sword through the slit in his visor. Only when the man was dead did the King fully realise how far the Mercian had gotten in his plan.”

Morgana’s mouth hung aghast and unbelieving, fierce love for her King filling her heart.

“He ripped a strip from his cape and tied it around her neck, before lifting her and carrying her all the way here. No one dared try to stop him,” Leon finished, finally turning so that Morgana could see the flurry activity surrounding the fallen Knight, shrouding her from view.

As if noticing her presence for the first time, Gaius left the group of men surrounding Morgause and crossed the room to address his Queen. Morgana broke out of Leon’s hold and took a step towards the physician.

“Your Highness,” he greeted, forgetting to bow his head. “Are you aware of what has happened?”

Morgana nodded, biting her lip. “How is she?”

“We have done all we can. Now all that is left to do is wait and pray.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “You must thank God for your husband. Had he not intervened, she would surely be dead. As it is, there is some hope that she might survive. The King’s interruption prevented the knife from cutting too deep. She has lost a lot of blood but the main vessels in her neck were untouched and the knife did not slit her airway. Amina and I have cleaned and stitched inside, and closed the wound. We have given her something to make her sleep and will set her up in the side room where we can keep watch over her.”

Relief flooded into Morgana’s lungs, finally letting her breathe. “Can I see her?”

“Once we have moved her, you can sit by her bed, should you wish. Though, I do not think it wise or necessary. I am sure that one of her brothers would do to keep watch over your guard.” He frowned. “I must impress upon you, Your Highness, that the chance of her surviving the night is slim.”

“But there is a chance?” Morgana asked.

Gaius nodded.

_Then she would never leave me_ , Morgana thought certainly. Not her Morgause – her brave, beautiful Knight.

“There is something else,” Gaius said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out Morgause’s Le Fay green pendant, the one that Morgana had given to her in Mermering. He dropped it into Morgana’s outstretched hand. “A nick on the blade caught on this chain. Along with Uther, it saved her life.”

 

~*~

 

Sitting there in that little room, surrounded by Morgause’s family, Morgana felt quite alone. No one had dared speak to her and she did not dare speak either, for fear of them feeling that she did not belong. To speak would be to intrude, even more when one of the babes made a noise and she flushed crimson until she had soothed them. She had to be there, though, she was sure of that. Morgause had earlier joked than if she left Morgana and the babes, her heart might not leave with her. Morgana was sure that if she were to leave and anything happened to Morgause, her heart would shatter and all love and life be gone from her.

“May I sit with you?” Rivalen asked, bowing his head to her but showing no other signs of formality. At her nod, he sat on the seat beside her. “May I?”

Morgana followed his gaze to Finnian wriggling in his basket. A part of her was startled at him asking. To her, he was as much kin to her babes as her aunt was. For in her mind, they were Morgause’s. Her magic in their veins made it so. And the kin of that magic was in Rivalen too. But he could not know that and so naturally he would ask, rather than just take her son. “Of course.”

He smiled in thanks and lifted the babe into his arms with the practiced gentleness of a loving father. It made Morgana smile, despite the pain in her heart.

“He is one fine lad,” Rivalen complimented, brushing a finger over Finnian’s blond hair.

Privately, Morgana thought he looked like Morgause, though she would never say it aloud. The Gods could not be that kind.

“And his sister is just as bonny,” he continued, nodding with a smile to Isolde, who slept peacefully in Morgana’s arms.

“They are both them blessings,” Morgana agreed. “Both perfect.”

“I can feel it,” he added a moment later. “Could from across the room.” He put his hand on Finnian’s belly, just as Morgause did. Morgana had not known why, but now she could guess – it was to better feel the magic inside the babes. “Her magic is strong in them. Stronger than mine is in my two, even now they are older and can wield more power.”

Morgana found herself needing to check that the door to Gaius’ study was closed before she could breathe again.

He spoke again, in a whisper this time. “Are they…”

Morgana hung her head. “No, not by blood. Though I wish they were.” When she looked back to Rivalen, there were tears in her eyes. “She says that it is not possible, not without incurring the wrath of the Gods and an price we could never afford. They have her magic and she loves them – that is good enough for me to think them hers.”

“Me too.”

Morgana looked up to see Ellie stood before her, her eyes and cheeks pink from crying. With a gentleness only children possess, she bent down to kiss Finnian, then Isolde, and then leant up to kiss Morgana’s cheek.

“You brought them here to make her stronger,” Ellie said with wide, serious eyes that were red from crying.

“Yes,” Morgana admitted, fearful of seeming ignorant and foolish to those for whom magic and its workings were as familiar as the movement of water under a boat was to her.

Ellie smiled. “It‘s working.”

“What are they called?” Tristan asked, slowly making his way towards them, a fraying blanket clutched in his hands. Flor looked relieved that they had found a distraction, and Morgana did her best to entertain them. “Aunt Morgause said that we could come and visit them once they were bigger, but then…”

“Your father has Finnian and this,” she gazed down at Isolde and smiled softly, adjusting her blanket so that the Wilde children could see her better, “is his big sister, Isolde.”

Tristan clasped his hands and grinned, rocking backwards and forwards on his heels. “That’s a pretty name.”

Ellie agreed. “Good for a princess.”

“ _Especially_ for a princess,” Tristan put in, vowing to outdo his sister in her affections.

When a gentle knock came at the door, Tristan ran off to answer it – standing up on his tiptoes to twist the big round doorknob. With great effort, he pulled the door open a crack and pressed his face up against the gap. What he saw made him jump back and gasp, his little mouth hanging comically open and his eyes bulging in awe and surprise.

Sir Leon pushed the door open the rest of the way and crept inside. With a Knightly grace that bewitched the young Wilde boy, he bowed to his Queen.

“Your Highness,” he said by way of greeting. “My brothers and I wished for news. I apologise for intruding.”

With his formalities complete, he raised his head and bowed to Rivalen, then to Flor.

“You’re a Knight,” Tristan mouthed silently, quite unable to speak in the presence of one of his idols. When Leon ruffled his hair, he almost fainted.

 “How is she?” Leon asked the room at large, taking the seat on the other side of Morgana when she offered it to him.

“Better than before,” Ellie told him confidently, before her mother called her and Tristan away.

“Much the same,” Morgana said, her spirits dropping. “Though Eleanor says that she is stronger, and I believe her.”

Ellie smiled brightly at her from across the room, sat on her mother’s knee. Morgana had just made a friend for life.

“Children often have a sense of these things that were cannot fathom. We should be hopeful then,” Leon agreed, though his expression was still grave. Morgana had almost forgotten the danger that Morgause was in. Surrounded by the warmth of the Wildes and buoyed by the feel of Morgause’s magic flowing between them, she was becoming more and more certain that it was only a matter of time until Morgause returned to them.

“Could I have a moment alone with you, Your Highness? There are some matters of state which I wish to discuss with you.” When Morgana looked at Flor and Rivalen, upset at the thought of throwing them from their kin’s sickroom, he added, “We can talk outside. Gaius has gone to fetch supplies from his cold stores in the cellars.”

Reluctantly, Morgana left Isolde in Flor’s capable care and followed Leon from the room.

 

 

~*~

 

 

“What is wrong?” she asked when the door was shut behind her and she was certain that Gaius was not lurking in some dark corner the way that men of his age so oft seemed to do. “Is it trouble with Mercia?”

“No,” Sir Leon dismissed, waving his hand. “I only said that to get you alone. They are denying any knowledge of the attack and we are forced to believe them unless we turn up evidence to the contrary. I have my best men on it. No, what I wanted to talk to you of is more… personal.”

He took her hand and pressed something warm into her palm.

“A ring?” A gold ring.

“Look at the inscription inside,” he pressed, looking over his shoulder to make sure that the old man had not yet returned.

A strange feeling bubbled in Morgana’s stomach as she took the ring over to the fire for light. Her breath caught at the inscription, and her blood ran cold with fear. The runes were those of the Old Religion, and she could barely make them out.

_My dearest Queen, my heart belongs to you. M._

“I…” Morgana’s mouth was dry and she could not speak. The ring was from Morgause and meant for her. She only hoped that Leon could not read the runes and would not be so quick to judge a sorceress as many in Camelot were.

“It was strung on her pendant. I took it before anyone else could see it,” Leon said, joining her at the fire. “I knew that it would be safe with you.”

“Thank you, Commander.” She took his hand from where it rested on the mantelpiece and kissed it. “I am ever in your debt.”

 

 

~*~

 

 

Rivalen had insisted that it should be him and not Morgana who should leave when it came time for the babes to feed. Flor and her children made to leave with him, but Morgana bid for her to stay. Though the thought of nursing the babes in front of anyone but Morgause and Gwen made her blush, she wished to talk to another mother. One who was not as intimidating as Amina.

They sat side by side at Morgause’s head, Flor holding Finnian who had for once had his fill first.

“I miss it,” Flor confided. “Do not get me wrong, you will soon be sick of the inconvenience of it and once they start to teethe… Well, I will let you find out. But that connection is something that no one but a mother and her nursing babe will ever know. We are lucky.”

“Yes,” Morgana agreed, “I do believe that we are. I cannot imagine not sharing this with them, now that I have it.”

“Ellie prays often for a little sister to dote on,” Flor said wistfully. “I still hope that the Gods will bless Rivalen and I again.”

“Gods willing,” Morgana wished, flushed with momentary excitement at knowing how to respond. She laid down a sleeping Isolde in her cot and fastened up her dress.

“I see that our Morgause has been schooling you in the old ways,” Flor said, her gaze drifting to Morgause’s still face. “You can have no idea how happy you have made her. Even the children have noticed it, and she always put on a smile whenever they were around.”

Morgana blushed and took Morgana’s hand, turning to gaze longingly at Morgause, before her paleness made her look away. “It can be nothing to how happy she has made me.”

“Morgause’s grandmother used to say that where love goes, power follows. I think that means that she loves you and these little babes very much. And I believe that you love her too, no matter how impossible the situation is that you find yourselves in. All things considered, I think that makes you family – our family. That means that once Morgause is fit again, we must have you over for one of our famous Wilde family dinners.” Remembering who she was speaking to, she dropped Morgana’s gaze and added, “If it would please you, Your Highness.”

“I…” Morgana’s blush deepened. “I would like that very much.”

The hand in hers twitched, returning her grip.

“As would I.”

“Morgause!” she gasped, jumping from her chair to the side of Morgause’s bed. “You’re awake!”

Flor laid Finnian beside his sister and ran to the door, opening it a crack and calling, “Rivalen, come quick! And bring the children!” She ran back to Morgause’s bedside and pinched her knee through the blankets. “You gave us quite the fright there, _Euraid-Geneth_.”

“Keeping you on your toes, Florrie.”

Morgause’s eyes opened slowly, the effort bringing a sound half way between a sigh and a whimper from between her pale lips.

“I…” Her mouth was dry and her throat red-raw. She swallowed and licked her lips, hoisting herself up until she was almost sitting. “I asked you a question.”

“Somehow, I do not think she means me,” Flor murmured with a smile, stepping back. She looked back to the door as it opened, admitting Gwen, Amina, Rivalen and the children. She put her finger to her lips to bid them to stay quiet.

“You – you did?” Morgana stuttered, sitting on the bed, hip to hip with her miracle of a Knight.

Morgause nodded faintly, grasping Morgana’s hand with all of her strength. “You disappeared before I got my answer. What will it be, Your Highness? Will you grant me this honour? ”

Tears poured down Morgana’s cheeks. She brought Morgause’s hand up to her lips and kissed her palm, laughing. “What do you think, my brave and foolish Knight?”

A smile tugged on Morgause’s lips and she coughed, the sound oddly hollow. “Is that a yes?”

Morgana showed her the ring, which she had already slid onto her right index finger, where the High Priestesses of old had worn their exchanged tokens of devotion.

“Yes,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss her and not caring who saw. “By the Gods, yes.”

And their betrothal kiss, just like their first, tasted of the salt of Morgana’s tears and the promise of what was to come.

 

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this epic of a fic has finally come to an end. It has been a bit of a battle for me, I won’t lie. As the comments dwindled and my work life got busier and busier, writing this fic was pushed lower and lower on my list of priorities. It would have been so easy to let it go. But there was one problem. Every time my eyes closed and night or my mind wondered on the bus, it always went to this world and these characters. I couldn’t let them go, even if I wanted too. And there is so much more to come for them. That being said, I need a break and this is the end for now. There will be a sequel but I’m not sure exactly when that will begin being written. Be assured though, that its already all up there in my head. And there will be a mini!fic in between, which will follow on directly from the last scene of At My Most Beautiful.
> 
> For now though, I want to thank everyone who has read this labour of love – whether you’ve been reading from the beginning back in early 2011 or whether you’ve read it all in one go now. I want to thank you for taking a chance on this ridiculously long fic which is now more of a novel than I could have ever imagined at the beginning. So thank you.
> 
> Though I am a wee bit shallow and it’s not all about thanking you. I would really appreciate it if you could take the time to leave me some of your own thoughts on Morgana and Morgause, and their journey together. As I said, writing something on this scale is completely new to me. I would love to hear your thoughts.


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